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FERDINAND AND ISABELLA. 



LIVES OF CELEBRATED WOMEN. 




PHILADELPHIA: 
THOMAS, COWPERTHWAIT & CO. 



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LIVES 


OP 


CELEBEATED WOMEN: 


BY THE AUTHOR OP 


PETER PARLEY'S TALES. 


PHILADELPHIA: 


THOMAS, COWPERTHWAIT & CO. 



GIFT 

ESTATE 

THOMAS tmw III 
•cniEfl ait i*n 

TM4tfaA»Y GF CONGfil* 










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PREFACE. 



It is an oft-quoted proposition of Rousseau, that " the glory of woman 
lies in being unknown." If this be true, we shall deserve little credit for 
placing before the world these brief sketches of a few of the sex who have 
acquired celebrity among mankind. We are disposed to think, however, 
that the oracular words of the Genevan philosopher — though they may 
coincide with the despotism of the lords of creation, who would arrogate, 
not merely the sceptre of power, but the trump of fame, entirely to them- 
selves — like most other oracles, are liable to many exceptions. 

It may indeed be true that the happiness of women is generally to be 
found in the quiet of the domestic circle ; but that all, without distinction, 
should be confined to it, and that whenever one of the sex departs from it, 
she departs from her allotted sphere, is no more true than a similar prop- 
osition would be of men. Elizabeth of England, though little to be 
esteemed as a woman, did as much credit to her sex as her father did to 
his ; and while he enjoys the renown of having achieved the reformation in 
England, she is entitled to the credit of having been not only his superior 
as a sovereign, but one of the greatest sovereigns that ever occupied a 
throne. Joan of Arc performed achievements for her country scarcely less 
than miraculous ; and Hannah More afforded, by her pen, more efficient 
protection to the three kingdoms against the volcanic shock of the French 
revolution than the entire army and navy of Great Britain. 

Will any one pretend that these persons would have better fulfilled 
their destiny, if confined to the quiet precincts of the fireside ? If woman 
is only to be a housewife, why are gifts bestowed upon her, that make 
her often the rival, and sometimes the master, of the other sex, even in 



1* 



6 PREFACE. 

the higher walks of ambition ? Was Sappho's harp, the mere echo of 
which has thrilled upon the ear of nearly thirty centuries, given only to be 
touched in the secluded harem of some Lesbian lord ? Why had Sevigne 
such a magic pen, Roland so noble and dauntless a soul, the maid of Sara- 
gossa a patriotism so inspired and inspiring, if they were designed by 
their Creator only to preside over the nursery, the dairy, and the kitchen ? 
If women are created but to attend to the comforts of the other sex at 
home, why are such spirits as those of the lovely and lamented David- 
sons ever formed — spirits bursting with music and poetry, like the 
Eolian string, that gives forth its unbidden melody, only because God 
made it so ? Was Mrs. Hemans designed but to serve her surly and unap- 
preciating lord ? Are Lady Montagu, Mrs. Barbauld, Madame de Stael, 
Miss Edgeworth, Miss Sedgwick, Hannah More, Mrs. Sigourney, — who 
must be regarded as among the most efficient civilizers of modern times, — 
to be set down as violators of a great law which should govern woman's 
destiny ? In short, shall we, in Christian countries, who make it our 
boast that we have elevated woman to free companionship with man, still 
look backward, return to the selfish philosophy of the Turk, shut woman 
up in the harem, and gloss over our despotism by quotations from the 
Swiss Diogenes ? 

While we repeat that, in general, women consult their true dignity and 
happiness by seeking a quiet domestic career, we still maintain that such 
among them as have endowments suited to exert a happy influence upon 
mankind at large, are as truly fulfilling their duty and their destiny, by 
giving them scope, as are the other sex in doing the same under the like 
circumstances. It is believed that the following pages, although they 
notice only a few of those women who have acquired a deserved celebrity, 
will furnish ample argument to sustain the ground we assume. 




CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

lucretia and margaret davidson, ... 9 

Mrs. Adams, . 49 

Mrs. Washington, ....... 79 

Madame de Stael, 90 

Lady Hester Stanhope, 121 

Hannah More, 131 

Mrs. Barbauld, 167 

Madame de Genlis, 182 

Josephine, 219 

Marie Antoinette, 261 

Madame Roland, 267 

Madame de Sevigne, 286 

Mary, Queen of Scots, 307 

Elizabeth, Queen of England, .... 335 

Isabella of Spain, 339 

Joan of Arc, 349 



CELEBRATED WOMEN. 



LUCRETIA AND MARGARET DAVIDSON. 

"There stood on the banks of the Saranac a small, 
neat cottage, which peeped forth from the surround- 
ing foliage — the image of rural quiet and contentment. 
An old-fashioned piazza extended along the front, 
shaded with vines and honeysuckles ; the turf on the 
bank of the river was of the richest and brightest 
emerald ; and the wild rose and sweetbrier, which 
twined over the neat enclosure, seemed to bloom with 
more delicate freshness and perfume within the bounds 
of this earthly paradise. The scenery around was 
wildly yet beautifully romantic ; the clear blue river, 
glancing and sparkling at its feet, seemed only as a 
preparation for another and more magnificent view, 
when the stream, gliding on to the west, was buried in 
the broad, white bosom of Champlain, which stretched 
back, wave after wave, in the distance, until lost in 
faint blue mists that veiled the sides of its guardian 
mountains, seeming more lovely from their indistinct- 
ness." 

Such is the description which the younger subject 
of these memoirs gives us of the home of her parents, 
Dr. Oliver and Margaret Davidson, in the village of 



10 LUCRETIA AND MARGARET DAVIDSON. 

Plattsburg, New York. Amidst scenery so well calcu- 
lated to call forth and foster poetical talent, Lucretia 
Maria Davidson was born on the 27th September, 1808. 
Of her earliest childhood there is nothing recorded, 
except that she was physically feeble, and manifested 
extreme sensibility of disposition. She was sent to 
school when she was four years old, and there was 
taught to read and to imitate, in sand, the printed 
characters. Books now possessed for her a greater 
charm than childish sports. The writing paper began 
to disappear mysteriously from the table, and Lucretia 
was often observed with pen and ink, to the surprise 
of her parents, who knew that she had never been 
taught to write. The mystery remained unexplained 
until she was six years old, when her mother, in search- 
ing a closet rarely visited, found, behind piles of linen, 
a parcel of little books filled with hieroglyphics. 
These were at length deciphered by her parents, and 
proved to be metrical explanations of rudely-sketched 
pictures on the opposite page ; the explanations being 
made in Roman letters, most unartistically formed and 
disposed. Not long after, Lucretia came running to 
her mother in great agitation, the tears trickling down 
her cheeks, and said, " O mamma ! mamma ! how 
could you treat me so ? My little books — you have 
shown them to papa, — Anne, — Eliza! I know you 
have. O, what shall I do ? " Her mother tried to 
soothe the child, and promised never to do so again. 
" O mamma," replied she, a gleam of sunshine 
illumining the drops, " I am not afraid of that, for I 
have burned them all." "This reserve," says one 
whose kindred spirit could sympathize with that of 



LUCRETIA AND MARGARET DAVIDSON. 11 

Lucretia, " proceeded from nothing cold or exclusive in 
her character ; never was there a more loving or sym- 
pathetic creature. It would be difficult to say which 
was most rare, her modesty, or the genius it sanc- 
tified." 

It does not surprise us to learn that, under the 
guidance of pious parents, religion took a deep and 
enduring hold, at a very early period, upon so suscep- 
tible a child. From her earliest years, she evinced 
a fear of doing any thing displeasing in the sight of 
God ; and if, in her gayest sallies, she caught a look of 
disapprobation from her mother, she would ask, with 
the most artless simplicity, " O mother, was that 
wicked ? " Her extreme conscientiousness exhibited 
itself in a manner quite remarkable in a child. Some 
of the friends of the family thought their mode of edu- 
cation not the most judicious, and that her devoting so 
much time to study was not consistent with the pecu- 
niary circumstances and the physical condition of the 
mother, who, being a confirmed invalid, was able to 
take little part in the ordinary family labors. Lucre- 
tia's parents, however, did not concur in this opinion, 
and carefully concealed it from her ; but she in some 
manner became aware of its existence, and volunta- 
rily acted in accordance with it. The real feeling 
which prompted this conduct was artlessly made 
apparent by the incident which led her to return to her 
favorite occupation. When she was about twelve, she 
attended her father to a " birth-night " ball. The next 
day, an elder sister found her absorbed in composition. 
" She had sketched an urn, and written two stanzas 
under it. She was persuaded to show them to her 



12 LUCRETIA AND MARGARET DAVIDSON. 

mother. She brought them blushing and trembling. 
Her mother was ill, in bed ; but she expressed her 
delight with such unequivocal animation, that the 
child's face changed from doubt to rapture, and she 
seized the paper, ran away, and immediately added 
the concluding stanzas. When they were finished, her 
mother pressed her to her bosom, wept with delight, 
and promised her all the aid and encouragement she 
could give her. The sensitive child burst into tears. 
' And do you wish me to write, mamma ? and will 
papa approve ? and will it be right that I should do 
so ? ' " The following are the verses : — 

" And does a hero's dust lie here ? 
Columbia, gaze, and drop a tear : 
His country's and the orphan's friend, 
See thousands o'er his ashes bend. 

Among the heroes of the age, 
He was the warrior and the sage ; 
He left a train of glory bright, 
Which never will be hid in night. 

The toils of war and danger past, 

He reaps a rich reward at last ; 

His pure soul mounts on cherub's wings, 

And now with saints and angels sings. 

The brightest on the list of Fame, 

In golden letters shines his name ; 

Her trump shall sound it through the world, 

And the striped banner ne'er be furled. 

And every sex, and every age, 
From lisping boy to learned sage, 
The widow, and her orphan son, 
Revere the name of Washington ! " 



LUCRETIA AND MARGARET DAVIDSON. 13 

A literary friend, to whom these verses were shown, 
felt some doubts as to Lucretia's being the real author 
of the stanzas, and suffered them to appear. The feel- 
ing that her rectitude was impeached made the sensi- 
tive girl actually ill; but a poetic remonstrance, which 
she prepared on the occasion, removed every doubt. 

From what has been before said, it must not be sup- 
posed that Lucretia was suffered to abandon herself to 
literary avocations. She had her prescribed tasks in 
sewing, and other customary employments, which she 
generally performed with fidelity and with wonderful 
celerity ; sometimes, however, the voice of her muse 
struck her in the midst, and " enchanted she dropped 
each earthly care." One day, she had promised to do 
a certain piece of sewing, and had eagerly run for her 
basket ; she was absent long, and on her return found 
that the work was done. " Where have you been, 
Lucretia ? " said her mother, justly displeased. " O 
mamma," she replied, " I did forget ; I am grieved. 
As I passed the window, I saw a solitary sweet pea. 
I thought they were all gone. This was alone. I ran 
to smell it, but, before I could reach it, a gust of wind 
broke the stem. I turned away disappointed, and was 
coming back to you ; but as I passed the table, there stood 
the inkstand, and I forgot you." The following beau- 
tiful verses insured the forgiveness of her mother : — 

" The last flower of the garden was blooming alone, 
The last rays of the sun on its blushing leaves shone 
Still a glittering drop on its bosom reclined, 
And a few half-blown buds 'midst its leaves were entwined 

Say, lovely one, say, why lingerest thou here ? 
And why on thy bosom reclines the bright tear ? 
2 



14 LUCRETIA AND MARGARET DAVIDSON. 

'Tis the tear of the zephyr — for summer 'twas shed, 
And for all thy companions now withered and dead. 

Why lingerest thou here, when around thee are strown 
The flowers once so lovely, by autumn blasts blown ? 
Say, why, sweetest floweret, the last of thy race, 
Why lingerest thou here the lone garden to grace ? 

As I spoke, a rough blast, sent by winter's own hand, 
Whistled by me, and bent its sweet head to the sand ; 
1 hastened to raise it — the dew-drop had fled, 
And the once lovely flower was withered and dead.' 

All her short pieces were composed with equal 
rapidity ; and sometimes she wished that she had two 
pair of hands to record as fast as her muse dictated. 
These she composed wherever she chanced to be 
when the spirit of poesy came over her. In the midst 
of her family, blind and deaf to all around her, she 
held sweet communion with her muse. But when com- 
posing her longer poems, as " Amie Khan," or " Chi- 
comicos," she required complete seclusion. She retired 
to her own room, closed the blinds, and placed her 
^Eolian harp in the window. Her mother gives this 
graphic description: " I entered her room, — she was 
sitting with scarcely light enough to discern the char- 
acters she was tracing ; her harp was in the window, 
touched by a breeze just sufficient to rouse the spirit 
of harmony ; her comb had fallen on the floor, and 
her long, dark ringlets hung in rich profusion over her 
neck and shoulders ; her cheek glowed with animation ; 
her lips were half unclosed ; her full, dark eye was 
radiant with the light of genius, and beaming with sen- 
sibility ; her head rested on her left hand, while she 



LUCRETIA AND MARGARET DAVIDSON. 15 

held her pen in her right. She looked like the inhab- 
itant of another sphere. She was so wholly absorbed 
that she did not observe my entrance. I looked over 
her shoulder, and read the following lines : — 

* What heavenly music strikes my ravished ear, 
So soft, so melancholy, and so clear ? 
And do the tuneful nine then touch the lyre, 
To fill each bosom with poetic fire ? 
Or does some angel strike the sounding strings, 
Who caught from echo the wild note he sings ? 
But, ah ! another strain ! how sweet ! how wild ! 
Now, rushing low, 'tis soothing, soft, and mild.' " 

The noise made by her mother roused Lucretia, who 
soon afterwards brought her the preceding verses, 
with the following added to them, being an address to 
her jEolian harp : — 

" And tell me now, ye spirits of the wind, 
O, tell me where those artless notes to find — 
So lofty now, so loud, so sweet, so clear, 
That even angels might delighted hear. 

But hark ! those notes again majestic rise, 

As though some spirit, banished from the skies, 

Had hither fled to charm iEolus wild, 

And teach him other music, sweet and mild. 

Then hither fly, sweet mourner of the air, 
Then hither fly, and to my harp repair ; 
At twilight chant the melancholy lay, 
And charm the sorrows of thy soul away." 

Her parents indulged her in the utmost latitude in 
her reading. History, profane and sacred, novels, 
poetry, and other works of imagination, by turns occu- 



16 LUCRETIA AND MARGARET DAVIDSON. 

pied her. Before she was twelve, she had read the 
English poets. Dramatic works possessed a great 
charm for her, and her devotion to Shakspeare is ex- 
pressed in the following verses, written in her fifteenth 
year : — 

" Shakspeare, with all thy faults, (and few have more,) 
I love thee still, and still will con thee o'er. 
Heaven, in compassion to man's erring heart, 
Gave thee of virtue, then of vice, a part, 
Lest we, in wonder here, should bow before thee, 
Break God's commandment, worship, and adore thee ; 
But admiration, now, and sorrow join ; 
His works we reverence, while we pity thine." 

But above all other books she valued the Bible. 
The more poetical parts of the Old Testament she 
almost committed to memory ; and the New Testament, 
especially those parts which relate the life of our Sa- 
vior, was studied by her, and excited in her the deep- 
est emotions. As an evidence of this we give the 
following verses, written in her thirteenth year : — 

"THE GOOD SHEPHERD. 

" The shepherd feeds his fleecy flock with care, 
And mourns to find one little lamb has strayed ; 
He, unfatigued, roams through the midnight air, 
O'er hills, o'er rocks, and through the mossy glade. 

But when that lamb is found, what joy is seen 
Depicted on the careful shepherd's face, 

When, sporting o'er the smooth and level green, 
He sees his favorite charge is in its place ! 

Thus the great Shepherd of his flock doth mourn, 
When from his fold a wayward lamb has strayed, 



LUCRETIA AND MARGARET DAVIDSON. 17 

And thus with mercy he receives him home, 
When the poor soul his Lord has disobeyed. 

There is great joy among the saints in heaven, 
When one repentant soul has found its God ; 

For Christ, his Shepherd, hath his ransom given, 
And sealed it with his own redeeming blood." 

We have now arrived at a period which most girls 
look forward to as an epoch in their life — the first 
ball ! Lucretia had been to dancing-school, and took 
great delight in that exercise. In the hope of over- 
coming her painful timidity, her mother had consented 
to her attending the public assemblies of Plattsburg. 
She was fourteen. The day arrived, and the impor- 
tant subject of dress was the matter of consultation 
between Mrs. Davidson and her eldest daughter, Lu- 
cretia sitting by, absorbed in one of the Waverley 
novels. " What shall Lucy wear ? " asked the sister. 
" Come, Lucretia ; what color will you wear to-night ? " 
" Where ? " " Where ? why, to the assembly, to be 
sure." " Is it to-night ? so it is ! " and she tossed 
aside her book, and danced delighted about the room. 
The question of dress was now settled, and Lucretia 
was soon again absorbed in her book. At the hour 
for dressing, the delights of the ball again filled her 
imagination, and she set about the offices of the toilet 
with interest. Her sister was to dress her hair ; but, 
when the time came, she was missing. She was called 
in vain, and was at length found in the parlor, in the 
dusky twilight, writing poetry. " She returned from 
the assembly," says her mother, " wild with delight." 
" O mamma," said she, " I wish you had been there. 
When I first entered, the glare of light dazzled my 
b 2* 



18 LTJCRETIA AND MARGARET DAVIDSON. 

eyes ; my head whirled, and I felt as if I were treading 
on air ; all was so gay, so brilliant ! But I grew tired 
at last, and was glad to hear sister say it was time to 
go home." 

About the same period, life received for her a new 
object of interest. Her little sister Margaret, the 
frequent subject of her verses, was born. The fol- 
lowing are among the earliest stanzas addressed to 
her : — 

" Sweet babe, 1 cannot hope that thou'lt be freed 
From woes, to all since earliest time decreed ; 
But may'st thou be with resignation blessed, 
To bear each evil, howsoe'er distressed. 

May Hope her anchor lend amid the storm, 
And o'er the tempest rear her angel form ; 
May sweet Benevolence, whose words are peace, 
To the rude whirlwind softly whisper, Cease ! 

And may Religion, Heaven's own darling child, 
Teach thee at human cares and griefs to smile ; 
Teach thee to look beyond that world of woe, 
To heaven's high font, whence mercies ever flow. 

And when this vale of years is safely passed, 
When death's dark curtain shuts the scene at last, 
May thy freed spirit leave this earthly sod, 
And fly to seek the bosom of thy God." 

Lucretia was now placed in trying circumstances. 
Her mother, after the birth of Margaret, was very ill ; 
the infant, too, was ill ; and, to add to their misfortunes, 
the nurse was taken sick. Lucretia's eldest sister had 
recently been married, and had removed to Canada ; 
so that upon her devolved great and manifold duties. 

The manner in which she discharged these shall be 



LUCRETIA AND MARGARET DAVIDSON. 19 

related in her mother's own words. " Lucretia aston- 
ished us all. She took her station in my sick-room, 
and devoted herself wholly to the mother and the 
child ; and when my recovery became doubtful, in- 
stead of resigning herself to grief, her exertions were 
redoubled, not only for the comfort of the sick, but 
she was an angel of consolation to her afflicted father. 
We were amazed at the exertions she made, and the 
fatigue she endured ; for with nerves so weak, a 
constitution so delicate, and a sensibility so exquisite, 
we trembled lest she should sink with anxiety and 
fatigue. Until it ceased to be necessary, she per- 
formed not only the duties of a nurse, but acted as 
superintendent of the household." Neither did she 
relinquish her domestic avocations when her mother 
became better ; " she did not so much yield to her 
ruling passion as to look into a book, or take up a pen, 
lest she should again become so absorbed in them as 
to neglect to perform those little offices which a feeble, 
affectionate mother had a right to claim at her hands. 
As was to be expected, her mental and physical health 
suffered; her cheek became pale, and her spirits 
dejected. Her mother became alarmed, and expressed 
her apprehensions. " I am not ill, mamma," said 
she, " only out of spirits." An explanation ensued, 
and the mother convinced the child that her duty did 
not require a total abandonment of the pursuits she 
longed for, but a judicious intermingling of literary 
with domestic labors. The good consequences of the 
change were soon manifest in the restored health and 
cheerfulness of Lucretia. 

It was about this period ( 1823-4) that she composed 



20 LUCKETIA AND MARGARET DAVIDSON. 

the longest of her published poems, " Amie Khan," 
an Oriental tale, which would do credit to much older 
and more practised writers. 

In 1824, an old friend of her mother's, Moss Kent, 
Esq., visited Plattsburg. He had never seen Lucretia, 
but had formed a high opinion of her genius from 
some of her productions, which had been shown to 
him by his sister. Her appearance at this time was 
well calculated to confirm his prepossessions in her 
favor. She is thus described by her biographer : 
" Miss Davidson was just sixteen. Her complexion 
was the most beautiful brunette, clear and brilliant, 
of that warm tint that seems to belong to lands of the 
sun, rather than to our chilled regions; indeed, her 
whole organization, mental as well as physical, her 
deep and quick sensibility, her early development, 
were characteristics of a warmer clime than ours : 
her stature was of the middle height ; her form slight 
and symmetrical ; her hair profuse, dark, and curling ; 
her mouth and nose regular, and as beautiful as if 
they had been chiselled by an inspired artist ; and 
through this fitting medium beamed her angelic spirit." 

Charmed by all he saw and read, Mr. Kent at once 
made the proposal to her parents to adopt Lucretia as 
his own child. The proposal was in part accepted, 
and, in accordance with his wishes, it was determined 
to send her to the Troy Seminary. Her feelings on 
this occasion are thus made known by letter to her 
sister: "What think you? Ere another moon shall 
fill, c round as my shield,' I shall be at Mrs. Willard's 
Seminary. In a fortnight I shall probably have left 
Plattsburg, not to return at least until the expiration of 



LUCRETIA AND MARGARET DAVIDSON. 21 

six months. O, I am so delighted, so happy ! I shall 
scarcely eat, drink, or sleep, for a month to come. 
You must write to me often, and you must not laugh 
when you think of poor Lucy in the far-famed city of 
Troy, dropping handkerchiefs, keys, gloves, &c. ; in 
short, something of every thing I have. It is well if 
you can read what I have written, for papa and 
mamma are talking, and my head whirls like a top. 
O, how my poor head aches ! Such a surprise as I 
have had ! " 

She left home November 24, 1824, to appearance 
full of health and of delight at the opportunities of ac- 
quiring knowledge which were to be open to her. At 
parting she left the following verses : — 

"TO MY MOTHER. 

" O Thou whose care sustained my infant years, 
And taught my prattling lip each note of love, 
Whose soothing voice breathed comfort to my fears, 
And round my brow hope's brightest garland wove, - 

To thee my lay is due, the simple song, 

Which nature gave me at life's opening day ; 

To thee these rude, these untaught strains belong, 
Whose heart indulgent will not spurn my lay. 

O, say, amid this wilderness of life, 

What bosom would have throbbed like thine for me ? 
Who would have smiled responsive ? Who, in grief, 

Would e'er have felt, and, feeling, grieved like thee ? 

Who would have guarded, with a falcon eye, 
Each trembling footstep, or each sport of fear ? 

Who would have marked my bosom bounding high, 
And clasped me to her heart with love's bright tear ? 



22 LUCRETIA AND MARGARET DAVIDSON. 

Who would have hung around my sleepless couch, 
And fanned, with anxious hand, ray burning brow ? 

Who would have fondly pressed my fevered lip, 
In all the agony of love and woe ? 

None but a mother — none but one like thee, 
Whose bloom has faded in the midnight watch, 

Whose eye, for me, has lost its witchery, 
Whose form has felt disease's mildew touch. 

Yes, thou hast lighted me to health and life, 
By the bright lustre of thy youthful bloom ; 

Yes, thou hast wept so oft o'er every grief, 

That woe hath traced thy brow with marks of gloom. 

O, then, to thee this rude and simple song, 

Which breathes of thankfulness and love for thee, 

To thee, my mother, shall this lay belong, 
Whose life is spent in toil and care for me." 



The following extracts from a letter to her mother 
tell us of the state of her feelings when established at 
the Seminary. 

" December 24, 1824. Here I am at last ; and 
what a naughty girl I was, when I was at aunt Schuy- 
ler's, that I did not write you every thing ! But to tell 
the truth, I was topsy-turvy, and so I am now. But 
in despite of calls from the young ladies, and of a 
hundred new faces, and new names which are con- 
stantly ringing in my ears, I have set myself down, 
and will not rise until I have written an account of 
every thing to my dear mother. I am contented ; yet, 
notwithstanding, I have once or twice turned a wistful 
glance towards my dear-loved home. Amidst all the 
parade of wealth, in the splendid apartments of luxury, 



LUCRETIA AND MARGARET DAVIDSON. 23 

I can assure you, my dearest mother, that I had rather 
be with you, in our own lowly home, than in the midst 
of all this ceremony." " O mamma, I like Mrs. W. 
* And so this is my little girl,' said she, and took me 
affectionately by the hand. O, I want to see you so 
much ! But I must not think of it now ; I must learn 
as fast as I can, and think only of my studies. Dear, 
dear little Margaret ! Kiss her and the little boys for 
me. How is dear father getting on in this rattling 
world ? " 

The transplanting a flower of so delicate a constitu- 
tion from the clear air of Lake Champlain to the close 
atmosphere of a city boarding-school, was followed 
by consequences which might have been expected. 
Almost from her arrival, Lucretia's letters speak of 
ill-health and unhappiness, aggravated by the fear that 
her progress in studies, thus frequently interrupted, 
would disappoint the expectations of her kind bene- 
factor, for whom she seems to have cherished the 
most affectionate and grateful feelings. Neither do 
the excitements of a large public seminary seem well 
adapted to one of so sensitive a nature. In the course 
of time, the public examination approached, and for the 
two months preceding it, she was kept in a state of 
constant agitation and dread, which is thus spoken of 
in a half-serious, half-jesting letter to her mother: 
" We are all engaged, heart and hand, preparing for 
this awful examination. O, how I dread it ! But 
there is no retreat. I must stand firm to my post, or 
experience the anger, vengeance, and punishments, 
which will, in case of delinquency or flight, be exer- 
cised with the most unforgiving acrimony. We are 



24 LTJCRETIA AND MARGARET DAVIDSON. 

in such cases excommunicated, henceforth and for- 
ever, under the awful ban of holy Seminary ; and the 
evil eye of false report is upon us. O mamma, I 
do, though, jesting apart, dread this examination ; but 
nothing short of real and absolute sickness can excuse 
a scholar in the eyes of Mrs. W. Even that will not 
do in the Trojan world around us ; for if a young lady 
is ill at examination, they say with a sneer, ' O, she 
is ill of an examination fever ! ' Thus you see, 
mamma, we have no mercy either from friends or 
foes. We must * do or die.' Tell Morris he must 
write to me. Kiss dear, dear little Margaret for me, 
and don't let her forget poor sister Luly ; and tell all 
who inquire for me that I am well, but in awful dread 
of a great examination." 

She was interrupted, in her course of preparation 
for the examination, by an illness so serious as to 
require the attendance of a physician. But no sooner 
was she convalescent than she was suffered to renew 
her suicidal course. " I shall rise between two and 
four now every morning, till the dreaded day is past. I 
rose the other night at twelve, but was ordered back to 
bed again. You see, mamma, I shall have a chance 
to become an early riser here." " Had I not written 
you that I was coming home, I think I should not have 
seen you this winter. All my friends think I had 
better remain here, as the journey will be long and 
cold ; but O, there is at that journey's end, which 
would tempt me through the wilds of Siberia — father, 
mother, brothers, sisters, home. Yes, I shall come." 
" The dreaded examination is now going on, my dear 
mother. To-morrow evening, which will be the last, 



LUCRETIA AND MARGARET DAVIDSON. 25 

is always the most crowded, and is the time fixed upon 
for my entree upon the field of action. O, I hope I 
shall not disgrace myself. It is the rule here to 
reserve the best classes till the last; so I suppose I 
may take it as a compliment that we are delayed." 
" The examination is over. E. did herself and her 
native village honor ; but as for your poor Luly, she 
acquitted herself, I trust, decently. O mamma, I 
was so frightened! But although my face glowed 
and my voice trembled, I did make out to get through, 
for I knew my lessons. The room was crowded to 
suffocation. All was still ; the fall of a pin could 
have been heard ; and I tremble when I think of it 
even now." 

The expected visit to her home was relinquished, 
and she passed the vacation with her friends in the 
vicinity of Troy. An incident which occurred as she 
was crossing the Hudson on her return to Troy, is 
thus described : " Uncle went to the ferry with me, 
where we met Mr. P. Uncle placed me under his 
care, and, snugly seated by his side, I expected a very 
pleasant ride, with a very pleasant gentleman. All 
was pleasant, except that we expected every instant 
that all the ice in the Hudson would come drifting 
against us, and shut in scow, stage and all, or sink us 
to the bottom, which, in either case, you know, mother, 
would not have been quite so agreeable. We had just 
pushed off from the shore, I watching the ice with 
anxious eyes, when, lo I the two leaders made a 
tremendous plunge, and tumbled headlong into the 
river. I felt the carriage following fast after; the 
other two horses pulled back with all their power, 
3 



26 LUCRETIA AND MARGARET DAVIDSON. 

but the leaders were dragging them down, dashing, 
and plunging, and flouncing, in the water. ' Mr. P., 
in mercy let us get out ! ' said I. But as he did not 
see the horses, he felt no alarm. The moment I 
informed him they were overboard, he opened the 
door, and cried, « Get out and save yourself, if pos- 
sible ; I am old and stiff, but I will follow you in an 
instant.' 4 Out with the lady ! let the lady out ! ' 
shouted several voices at once ; 4 the other horses are 
about to plunge, and then all will be over.' I made a 
lighter spring than many a lady does in a cotillon, 
and jumped upon a cake of ice. Mr. P. followed, 
and we stood (I trembling like a leaf) expecting 
every moment that the next plunge of the drowning 
horses would detach the piece of ice upon which we 
were standing, and send us adrift ; but, thank Heaven, 
after working for ten or fifteen minutes, by dint of 
ropes, and cutting them away from the other horses, 
they dragged the poor creatures out more dead than 
alive. Mother, don't you think I displayed some 
courage ? I jumped into the stage again, and shut 
the door, while Mr. P. remained outside, watching the 
movement of affairs. We at length reached here, and 
I am alive, as you see, to tell the story of my woes." 

At the spring vacation, Lucretia returned to her 
loved home ; but the joy of her parents at once more 
embracing their darling daughter, was damped by 
observing that the fell destroyer had set its well-known 
mark upon her cheek. Her father called in another 
physician to consult with him, and, strange to say, it 
was decided that she should return to school in Albany, 
where she arrived May, 1825, and where her reception, 



LUCRETIA AND MARGARET DA 1DS0N. 27 

her accommodations and prospects, seem to have given 
her much delight, and where she entered upon her 
career of study with her wonted ardor. But her 
physical strength could not sustain the demands upon it. 
She thus writes to her mother : " I am very wretched : 
am I never to hear from you again ? I am homesick. 
I know I am foolish, but I cannot help it. To tell the 
truth, I am half sick, I am so weak, so languid. I can- 
not eat. I am nervous ; I know I am. I weep most of 
the time. I have blotted the paper so that I cannot 
write. I cannot study much longer if I do not hear 
from you." Her disease appears now to have 
assumed a fixed character, and in her next letter, 
she expresses a fear that it is beyond the reach of 
human art. Her mother, herself ill, set off at once for 
Albany, and was received by her child with rapture. 
" O mamma? I thought I should never have seen you 
again ! But, now I have you here, I can lay my 
aching head upon your bosom. I shall soon be better." 

The journey homeward, though made in the heats of 
July, was attended with less suffering than was antici- 
pated. " Her joy," says her mother, " upon finding 
herself at home, operated for a time like magic." 
The progress of disease seemed to be suspended. 
Those around her received rtew hope ; but she herself 
was not deceived, and she calmly waited for that great 
change which for her possessed no terrors, for her 
hopes as to the future rested upon a sure foundation. 

But one fear disturbed her, to which she refers in 
the following, the last piece she ever composed, and 
which is left unfinished : — 



LUCRETIA AND MARGARET DAVIDSON. 

" There is a something which I dread ; 
It is a dark and fearful thing ; 
It steals along with withering tread, 
Or sweeps on wild destruction's wing. 

That thought comes o'er me in the hour 
Of grief, of sickness, or of sadness ; 

'Tis not the dread of death ; 'tis more, — 
It is the dread of madness. 

O, may these throbbing pulses pause, 
Forgetful of their feverish course ; 

May this hot brain, which, burning, glows 
With all a fiery whirlpool's force, — 

Be cold, and motionless, and still, 

A tenant of its lowly bed ; 
But let not dark delirium steal " 



She died on the 27th August, 1825. Her literary 
labors will surprise all who remember that she had not 
yet reached her seventeenth birthday. They consist of 
two hundred and seventy-eight poetical pieces, of which 
there are five regular poems, of several cantos each ; 
three unfinished romances ; a complete tragedy, written 
at thirteen years of age ; and twenty-four school exer- 
cises ; besides letters, of which forty are preserved, 
written in the course of aWew months, to her mother 
alone. Indeed, we cannot but look upon Lucretia 
Davidson as one of the wonders of humanity. Her 
early productions excited even the admiration of 
Byron ; and the delicacy, dutifulness, and exaltation, of 
her character seemed almost to have realized angelic 
purity and beauty of soul, in a tenement of clay, 



LUCRETIA AND MARGARET DAVIDSON. 29 

The little Margaret, as we have seen, was the object 
of Lucretia's fondest affection. She used to gaze upon 
her little sister with delight, and, remarking the bright- 
ness and beauty of her eyes, would exclaim, " She 
must, she will be a poet ! " She did not live to see 
her prediction verified, but to use her mother's fond 
expressions, " On ascending to the skies, it seemed as 
if her poetic mantle fell, like a robe of light, on her 
infant sister." 

Though Margaret was but two years and u half old, 
the death of her sister made a strong impression on 
her, and an incident which occurred a few months 
afterwards showed that she appreciated her character. 
As Mrs. Davidson was seated, at twilight, conversing 
with a female friend, Margaret entered the room with 
a light, elastic step, for which she was remarked. 
" That child never walks," said the lady ; then turning 
to her, she said, "Margaret, where are you flying 
now ?" " To heaven ! " replied Margaret, pointing up 
with her fingers, " to meet my sister Lucretia, when I 
get my new wings." " Your new wings ! When will 
you get them ? " " O, soon, very soon ; and tthen I 
shall fly ! " " She loved," says her mother, " to sit, 
hour after hour, on a cushion at my feet, her little arms 
resting upon my lap, and her full, dark eyes fixed upon 
mine, listening to anecdotes of her sister's life, and 
details of the events which preceded her death, often 
exclaiming, while her face beamed with mingled emo- 
tions, " O mamma, I will try to fill her place ! Teach 
me to be like her ! " 

Warned by their dreadful experience in the former 
instance, the parents endeavored to repress the mtefc« 
3* 



30 LUCRETIA AND MARGARET DAVIDSON. 

lectual activity of Margaret. She was not taught to 
read till she was four years old ; but so rapid was her 
progress after that period, under her mother's instruc- 
tions, that at six she read not only well, but elegantly, 
and was wont to solace her mother's hours of pro- 
tracted illness, by reading to her the works of Thom- 
son, Campbell, Cowper, Milton, Byron, Scott, &c, in 
which she took enthusiastic delight, and in discrim- 
inating their beauties and defects, she showed wonder- 
ful taste and intelligence. The Scriptures were her 
daily study ; not hurried over as a task, but she would 
spend an hour or two in commenting with her mother 
upon the chapter she had read. 

" Her religious impressions," says her mother, 
" seemed to be interwoven with her existence. From 
the very first exercise of reason, she evinced strong 
devotional feelings, and, although she loved play, she 
would at any time prefer seating herself beside me, 
and, with every faculty absorbed in the subject, listen 
while I attempted to recount the wonders of Providence, 
and point out the wisdom and benevolence of God, as 
manifested in the works of creation." 

About the age of six years, she began to exhibit a 
talent for rhyming. One of her earliest pieces, if not 
remarkable for poetical merit, is worthy of transcrip- 
tion, from the incident which gave occasion to its com- 
position ; it also exhibits in a striking manner that 
conscientiousness- for which her sister was so distin- 
guished, and a power of self-examination of rare exist- 
ence in one so young. 

Her mother reproved her for some trifling act of 
disobedience upon which she attempted to justify her- 



LUCRETIA AND MARGARET DAVIDSON, 31 

self, and for this aggravation of the fault was banished 
to her chamber until she should become sensible of her 
error. Two hours elapsed, and she continued obsti- 
nate ; vindicating herself, and accusing her mother of 
Injustice. Mrs. D. reasoned with her, exhorting her to 
pray to God to assist her in gaining that meekness and 
humility which had characterized our Savior, and 
reminding her of the example he had set of obedience 
to parents. An hour or two afterwards, Margaret came 
running in, threw her arms around her mother's neck, 
and, sobbing, put into her hands these verses : — 

" Forgiven by my Savior dear 
For all the wrongs I've done, 
What other wish could I have here ? 
Alas ! there yet is one. 

I know my God has pardoned me ; 

I know he loves me still ; 
I wish I may forgiven be 

By her I've used so ill. 

Good resolutions I have made, 

And thought I loved my Lord ; 
But, ah ! I trusted in myself, 

And broke my foolish word. 

But give me strength, O Lord, to trust 

For help alone in thee ; 
Thou know'st my inmost feelings best ; 

O, teach me to obey." 

She took little pleasure in the common sports of 
children ; her amusem^its were almost entirely intel- 
lectual. If she played with a doll, or a kitten, she 
invested it with some historical or dramatic character, 



32 LUCRETIA AND B1ARGARET DAVIDSON. 

and whether Mary, queen of Scots, or Elizabeth, the 
character was always well sustained. 

In her seventh year, her health became visibly deli- 
cate, and she was taken to Saratoga springs and to 
New York, from which excursions she derived much 
physical advantage, and great intellectual pleasure ; 
but she returned to her native village with feeling^of 
admiration and enthusiasm for its natural beauties, 
heightened by contrast. As her health began again to 
fail in the autumn, and the vicinity to the lake seemed 
unfavorable to the health of Mrs. Davidson, the family 
went to Canada to pass the winter with the eldest 
daughter. 

Margaret grew stronger, but her mother derived no 
benefit from the change, and for eighteen months re- 
mained a helpless invalid, during which time her little 
daughter was her constant companion and attendant. 
" Her tender solicitude," says Mrs. D., " endeared her 
to me beyond any other earthly thing. Although under 
the roof of a beloved and affectionate daughter, and 
having constantly with me an experienced and judicious 
nurse, yet the soft and gentle voice of my little darling 
was more than medicine to my worn-out frame. If 
her delicate hand smoothed my pillow, it was soft to 
my aching temples, and her sweet smile would cheer 
me in the lowest depths of despondency. She would 
draw for me — read to me — and often, when writing 
at her little table, would surprise me by some tribute of 
love, which never failed to operate as a cordial to my 
heart. At a time when my«i!fe was depaired of, she 
wrote the following verses while sitting at my bed : — 



LUCRETIA AND MARGARET DAVIDSON. 33 

* I'll to thy arms in rapture fly, 
And wipe the tear that dims thine eye ; 
Thy pleasure will be my delight, 
Till thy pure spirit takes its flight. 

When left alone, when thou art gone, 

Yet still I will not feel alone ; 

Thy spirit still will hover near, 

And guard thy orphan daughter here.' " 



Margaret continued to increase in strength until 
January, 1833, when she was attacked by scarlet 
fever, under which she lingered many weeks. In the 
month of May, she had, however, so far recovered as 
to accompany her mother, now convalescent, on a 
visit to New York. Here she was the delight of the 
relatives with whom she resided, and the suggester of 
many new sources of amusement to her youthful com- 
panions. One of her projects was to get up a dramatic 
entertainment, for which she was to write the play. 
Indeed, she directed the whole arrangements, although 
she had never but once been to a theatre, and that on 
her former visit to New York. The preparations occu- 
pied several days, and, being nearly completed, Mar- 
garet was called upon to produce the play. " O," 
she replied, " I have not written it yet." " How is 
this ? Do you make the dresses first, and then write the 
play to suit them ? " ■* O," replied she, " the writing 
of the play is the easiest part of the preparation ; it 
will be ready before the dresses." In two days she 
produced her drama ; " which," says Mr. Irving, " is a 
curious specimen of the prompt talent of this most 
ingenious child, and by no means more incongruous in 
c 



34 LUCRETIA AND MARGARET DAVIDSON. 

its incidents than many current dramas by veteran and 
experienced playwrights." 

Though it was the study of her relatives to make her 
residence in New York as agreeable to her as possible, 
the heart of Margaret yearned for her home : her feel- 
ings are expressed in the following lines : — 

" 1 would fly from the city, would fly from its care, 
To my own native plants and my flowerets so fair ; 
To the cool grassy shade and the rivulet bright, 
Which reflects the pale moon on its bosom of light. 
Again would I view the old mansion so dear, 
Where 1 sported a babe, without sorrow or fear ; 
1 would leave this great city, so brilliant and gay, 

■ For a peep at my home on this fine summer day. 
1 have friends whom I love, and would leave with regret, 
But the love of my home, O, 'tis tenderer yet ! 
There a sister reposes unconscious in death ; 
'Twas there she first drew, and there yielded, her breath : 
A father I love is away from me now — 
O, could I but print a sweet kiss §n his brow, 
Or smooth the gray locks, to my fond heart so dear, 
How quickly would vanish each trace of a tear ! 
Attentive I listen to pleasure's gay call, 
But my own darling home, it is dearer than all." 

In the autumn the travellers turned their faces home- 
wards, but it was not to the home of Margaret's tender 
longings. The wintry winds of Lake Champlam were 
deemed too severe for the invalids, and the family took 
up its residence at Ballston. Margaret's feelings upon 
this disappointment are thus recorded : — 

« MY NATIVE LAKE. 

" Thy verdant banks, thy lucid stream, 
Lit by the sun's resplendent beam, 



LUCRETIA AND MARGARET DAVIDSON. 35 

Reflect each bending tree so light 
Upon thy bounding bosom bright ! 
Could I but see thee once again, 
My own, my beautiful Champlain ! 

The little isles that deck thy breast, 

And calmly on thy bosom rest, 

How often, in my childish gle£, 

I've sported round them, bright and free ! 

Could I but see thee once again, 

My own, my beautiful Champlain ! 

How oft I've watched the freshening shower 

Bending the summer tree and 'flower, 

And felt my little heart beat high 

As the bright rainbow graced the sky ! 

Could I but see thee once again, 

My own, my beautiful Champlain ! 

And shall I never see thee more, 
My native lake, my much-loved shore ? 
And must I bid a long adieu, 
My dear, my infant home, to you ? 
Shall I not see thee once again, 
My own, my beautiful Champlain ? " 



But Margaret was happy ; the family were reunited, 
and she had health sufficient to allow her to pursue 
her studies, still under her mother's direction. She 
was fond, too, of devising little plans for intellectual 
improvement and amusement : among others, a 
weekly newspaper was issued in manuscript, called 
the " Juvenile Aspirant." But this happiness was 
soon clouded. Her own severe illness excited alarm- 
ing fears ; and hardly was she convalescent, when, in 
the spring of 1834, intelligence was received from 



36 LTJCRETIA AND MARGARET DAVIDSON. 

Canada of the death of her eldest sister. This was a 
severe shock, for she had always looked up to this 
only surviving sister as to one who would supply the 
place of her seemingly dying mother. But she forgot 
her own grief in trying to solace that of her mother. 
Her feelings, as usual, were expressed in verses, 
which are as remarkable for their strain of sober 
piety as for poetical merit. The following are por- 
tions of an address — 



"TO MY MOTHER, OPPRESSED WITH SORROW. 

" Weep, O my mother ! I will bid thee weep, 
For grief like thine requires the aid of tears ; 
But O, 1 would not see thy bosom thus 
Bowed down to earth, with anguish so severe ; 
I would not see thine ardent feelings crushed, 
Deadened to all save sorrow's thrilling tone, 
Like the pale flower, which hangs its drooping head 
Beneath the chilling blasts of Eolus ! 

***** 

When love would seek to lead thy heart from grief, 
And fondly pleads one cheering look to view, 
A sad, a faint, sad smile one instant gleams 
Athwart the brow where sorrow sits enshrined, 
Brooding o'er ruins of what once was fair ; 
But like departing sunset, as it throws 
One farewell shadow o'er the sleeping earth, 
Thus, thus it fades ! and sorrow more profound 
Dwells on each feature where a smile, so cold, 
It scarcely might be called the mockery 
Of cheerful peace, but just before had been. 
***** 

But, O my mother, weep not thus for her, 
The rose, just blown, transported to its home ; 



LUGRETIA AND MARGARET DAVIDSON. 37 

Nor weep that her angelic soul has found 

A resting-place with God. 

O, let the eye of heaven-born Faith disperse 

The darkening mists of earthly grief, and pierce 

The clouds which shadow dull mortality ! 

Gaze on the heaven of glory crowned with light, 

Where rests thine own sweet child with radiant brow, 

In the same voice which charmed her father's halls, 

Chanting sweet anthems to her Maker's praise, 

And watching with delight the gentle buds 

Which she had lived to mourn ; watching thine own, 

My mother ! the soft, unfolding blossoms, 

Which, ere the breath of earthly sin could taint, 

Departed to their Savior, there to wait 

For thy fond spirit in the home of bliss ! 

The angel babes have found a sister mother ; 

But when thy soul shall pass from earth away, 

The little cherubs then shall cling to thee, 

And then, sweet guardian, welcome thee with joy, 

Protector of their helpless infancy, 

Who taught them how to reach that happy home." 



So strong and healthful did she seem during the 
ensuing summer, that her mother began to indulge 
hcpes of raising the tender plant to maturity. But 
winter brought with it a new attack of sickness, and 
from December to March the little sufferer languished 
on her bed. During this period, her mind remained 
inactive ; but with returning health it broke forth in a 
manner that excited alarm. " In conversation," says 
her mother, " her sallies of wit were dazzling ; she 
composed and wrote incessantly, or rather would have 
done so, had I not interposed my authority to prevent 
this unceasing tax upon both her mental and physical 
strength. She seemed to exist only in the regions of 
poetry." 4 



38 LUCRETIA AND MARGARET DAVIDSON. 

There was a faint return of health, followed by a 
new attack of disease ; indeed, the remainder of her 
brief sojourn in this world presents the usual vicissitudes 
attendant upon her disease — short intervals of health, 
which she devoted to study, amid long and dreary 
periods of illness, which she bore with exemplary 
patience. It would be painful to follow her through 
these vicissitudes. We need only note those events 
and changes which produced a marked effect upon 
her feelings, and which she has recorded in verse. 

In the autumn of 1835, the family removed to 
" Ruremont," an old-fashioned country house near New 
York, on the banks of Long Island Sound. The char- 
acter and situation of this place seized powerfully on 
Margaret's imagination. " The curious structure of 
this old-fashioned house," says her mother, " its pic- 
turesque appearance, the varied and beautiful grounds 
around it, called up a thousand poetic images and 
romantic ideas. A long gallery, a winding staircase, 
a dark, narrow passage, a trap-door, large apartments 
with massive doors and heavy iron bolts and bars, — all 
set her mind teeming with recollections of what she 
had read, and imagination of old castles, &c." Per- 
haps it was under the influence of feelings thus sug- 
gested that she composed the following 

« STANZAS. 

" O for the pinions of a bird, 
To bear me far away, 
Where songs of other lands are heard, 
And other waters play ! — 

For some agrial car, to fly 

On, through the realms of light, 



LUCRETIA AND MARGARET DAVIDSON. 39 

To regions rife with poesy, 
And teeming with delight. 

O'er many a wild and classic stream 

In ecstasy I'd bend, 
And hail each ivy-covered tower 

As though it were a friend ; 

Through many a shadowy grove, and round 

Full many a cloistered hall, 
And corridors, where every step 

With echoing peal doth fall. 

* * * . * 

O, what unmingled pleasure then 

My youthful heart would feel, 
And o'er its thrilling chords each thought 

Of former days would steal ! 

* * * * 
Amid the scenes of past delight, 

Or misery, I'd roam, 
Where ruthless tyrants swayed in might, 
Where princes found a home. 

* * * * 

I'd stand where proudest kings have stood, 
Or kneel where slaves have knelt, 

Till, rapt in magic solitude, 
I feel what they have felt." 

Margaret now felt comparatively well, and was 
eager to resume her studies. She was indulged so 
far as to be permitted to accompany her father three 
times to the city, where she took lessons in French, 
music, and dancing. To the Christmas holidays she 
looked forward as a season of delight; she had pre- 
pared a drama of six acts for the domestic entertain- 
ment, and the back parlor was to be fitted up for a 



40 LTJCRETIA AND MARGARET DAVIDSON, 

theatre, her little brothers being her fellow-laborers. 
But her anticipations were disappointed. Two of her 
brothers were taken ill ; and one of them, a beautiful 
ioy of nine, never recovered. "This," says her 
mother, " was Margaret's first acquaintance with 
death. She saw her sweet little play-fellow reclining 
upon my bosom during his last agonies ; she witnessed 
the bright glow which flashed upon his long-faded 
cheek ; she beheld the unearthly light of his beautiful 
eye, as he pressed his dying lips to mine, and ex- 
claimed, ' Mother, dear mother, the last hour has 
come ! ' It was indeed an hour of anguish. Its 
effect upon her youthful mind was as lasting as her 
life. The sudden change from life and animation to 
the still unconsciousness of death, for a time almost 
paralyzed her. The first thing that aroused her to a 
sense of what was going on about her, was the thought 
of my bereavement, and a conviction that it was her 
province to console me." But Mrs. Davidson soon 
presents a sadder picture : " My own weak frame was 
unable longer to sustain the effects of long watching 
and deep grief. I had not only lost my lovely boy, 
but I felt a strong conviction that I must soon resign 
my Margaret. Although she still persisted in the 
belief that she was well, the irritating cough, the 
hectic flush, the hurried beating of the heart, and the 
drenching night perspirations, confirmed me in this 
belief, and I sank under this accumulated weight of 
affliction. For three weeks I hovered on the borders 
of the grave, and, when I arose from this bed of pain, 
it was to witness the rupture of a blood-vessel in her 
lungs, caused by exertions to suppress a cough. I 



LUCRETIA AND MARGARET DAVIDSON. 41 

was compelled to conceal every appearance of alarm, 
lest agitation of her mind should produce fatal conse- 
quences. As I seated myself by her, she raised her 
speaking eyes to mine with a mournful, inquiring gaze, 
and, as she read the anguish which I could not conceal, 
she turned away with a look of despair." There no 
longer remained room for hope, and all that remained 
to be done was to smooth the pathway to the grave. 

Although Margaret endeavored to persuade herself 
that she was well, yet, from the change that took place 
in her habits in the autumn of 1836, it is evident that 
she knew her real situation. In compliance with 
her mother's oft-repeated advice, she gave up her 
studies, and sought by light reading and trivial employ- 
ments to " kill time." Of the struggles which it cost 
her thus to pass six months, the following incident, as 
related by her mother, will inform us : " She was seat- 
ed one day by my side, weary and restless, scarcely 
knowing what to do with herself, when, marking the 
traces of grief upon my face, she threw her arms 
about my neck, and, kissing me, exclaimed, 6 My dear, 
dear mother ! ' 4 What is it affects you now, my 
child ? ' 4 O, I know you are longing for something 
from my pen.' I saw the secret craving of the spirit 
that gave rise to the suggestion. 'I do indeed, my 
dear, delight in the effusions of your pen, but the 
exertion will injure you.' s Mamma, I must write ! I 
can hold out no longer ! I will return to my pen, my 
pencil, and my books, and shall again be happy.'" 
The following verses, written soon after, show the 
state of her feelings : - - 

4* 



42 LUCRETIA AND MARGARET DAVIDSON, 

" Earth, thou hast nought to satisfy 
The cravings of immortal mind ; 
Earth, thou hast nothing pure and high, 
The soaring, struggling soul to bind. 

Impatient of its long delay, 

The pinioned spirit fain would roam, 
And leave this crumbling house of clay, 

To seek, above, its own bright home ! 
***** 
O, how mysterious is the bond 

Which blends the earthly with the pure, 
And mingles that which death may blight 

With that which ever must endure • 

Arise, my soul, from all below, 
And gaze upon thy destined home — 

The heaven of heavens, the throne of God, 
Where sin and care can never come. 

***** 

Compound of weakness and of strength ; 

Mighty, yet ignorant of thy power ; 
Loftier than earth, or air, or sea, 

Yet meaner than the lowliest flower ! — 

Soaring towards heaven, yet clinging still 
To earth, by many a purer tie ! 

Longing to breathe a tender air, 
Yet fearing, trembling thus to die I " 



Some verses written about the same period show the 
feelings she held towards her sister Lucretia. 

" My sister ! with that thrilling word 

What thoughts unnumbered wildly spring ! 
What echoes in my heart are stirred, 

While thus I touch the trembling string ! 



LUCRETIA AND MARGARET DAVIDSON. 43 

My sister ! ere this youthful mind 

Could feel the value of thine ownj 
Ere this infantine heart could bind, 

In its deep cell, one look, one tone, 

To glide along on memory's stream, 

And bring back thrilling thoughts of thee ; 

Ere 1 knew aught but childhood's dream, 
Thy soul had struggled, and was free. 

***** 

I cannot weep that thou art fled ; 

Forever blends my soul with thine ; 
Each thought, by purer impulse led, 

Is soaring on to realms divine. 

***** 

I hear thee in the summer breeze, 

See thee in all that's pure or fair, 
Thy whisper in the murmuring trees, 

Thy breath, thy spirit, every where. 

Thine eyes, which watch when mortals sleep, 

Cast o'er my dreams a radiant hue ; 
Thy tears, " such tears as angels weep," 

Fall nightly with the glistening dew. 

Thy fingers wake my youthful lyre, 

And teach its softer strains to flow ; 
Thy spirit checks each vain desire, 

And gilds the lowering brow of woe. 

***** 

Thou gem of light ! my leading star ! 

What thou hast been I strive to be ; 
When from the path I wander far, 

O, turn thy guiding beam on me. 

Teach me to fill thy place below, 
That I may dwell with thee above ; 



44 LUCRETIA AND MARGARET DAVIDSON. 

To soothe, like thee, a mother's woe, 
And prove, like thine, a sister's love. 
* * * * 

When all is still, and fancy's realm 
Is opening to the eager view, 

Mine eye full oft, in search of thee, 
Roams o'er that vast expanse of blue. 

I know that here thy harp is mute, 
And quenched the bright, poetic fire ; 

Yet still I bend my ear, to catch 
The hymnings of thy seraph lyre. 

O, if this partial converse now 

So joyous to my heart can be, 
How must the streams of rapture flow, 

When both are chainless, both are free ! — • 

When, borne from earth for evermore, 

Our souls in sacred joy unite, 
At God's almighty throne adore, 

And bathe in beams of endless light ! " 

Although the extracts from the works of this gifted 
being have been so extensive, we cannot forbear giving 
some portions of a piece written about the same period, 
and entitled — 

"AN APPEAL FOR THE BLIND. 



" Launched forth on life's uncertain path. 
Its best and brightest gift denied, 
No power to pluck its fragrant flowers, 
Or turn its poisonous thorns aside ; — 

No ray to pierce the gloom within, 
And chase the darkness with its light ; 

No radiant morning dawn to win 

His spirit from the shades of night ; — 



LUCRETIA AND MARGARET DAVIDSON, 45 

Nature, whose smile, so pure and fair, 

Casts a bright glow on life's dark stream,— 

Nature, sweet soother of our care, 
Has not a single smile for him. 

When pale disease, with blighting hand, 

Crushes each budding hope awhile, 
Our eyes can rest in sweet delight 

On love's fond gaze, or friendship's smile. 

Not so with him; his soul chained down 

By doubt, and loneliness, and care, 
Feels but misfortune's chilling frown, 

And broods in darkness and despair. 

Favored by Heaven, O, haste thee on ; 

Thy blest Redeemer points the way ; 
Haste o'er the spirit's gloom to pour 

The light of intellectual day. 

Thou canst not raise their drooping lids, 

And wake them to the noonday sun; 
Thou can3t not ope what God hath closed, 

Or cancel aught his hands have done. 

But, O, there is a world within, 

More bright, more beautiful than ours ; 

A world which, nursed by culturing hands, 
Will blush with fairest, sweetest flowers. 

And thou canst make that desert mind 

Bloom sweetly as the blushing rose ; 
Thou canst illume that rayless void 

Till darkness like the day-gleam glows. 
***** 
Thus shalt thou shed a purer ray 

O'er each beclouded mind within, 
Than pours the glorious orb of day 

On this dark wcJfcd of care and sin. 



46 LUCRETIA AND MARGARET DAVIDSON. 

And when the last dread day has come, 
Which seals thine endless doom, — 

When the freed soul shall seek its home, 
And triumph o'er the tomb, — 

When lowly bends each reverend knee, 

And bows each heart in prayer, — 
A band of spirits, saved by thee, 

Shall plead thy virtues there." 

Hitherto Margaret had sedulously avoided all con- 
versations about her health, and seemed unwilling to 
let the feeling that disease had marked her for its 
victim take possession of her mind. But in the sum- 
mer of 1838, she one day surprised her mother by 
asking her to tell her, without reserve, her opinion of 
her state. "I was," says her mother, "wholly un- 
prepared for this question ; and it was put in so solemn 
a manner, that I could not evade it, were I disposed to 
do so. I knew with what strong affection she clung to 
life, and the objects and friends which endeared it to 
her ; I knew how bright the world upon which she was 
just entering appeared to her young fancy — what glow- 
ing pictures she had drawn of future usefulness and 
happiness. I was now called upon at one blow to 
crush these hopes, to destroy the delightful visions; 
it would be cruel and wrong to deceive her. In vain 
I attempted a reply to her direct and solemn appeal ; 
several times I essayed to speak, but the words died 
away on my lips ; I could only fold her to my heart in 
silence, imprint a kiss upon her forehead, and leave the 
room, to avoid agitating her with feelings I had no 
power to repress." 



LUCRETIA AND MARGARET DAVIDSON. 47 

But this silence was to Margaret as expressive as 
words. Religion had always been present with her, 
but from this period it engrossed a large portion of her 
thoughts. She regretted that so much of her time had 
been spent in light reading, and that her writings had 
not been of a more decidedly religious character. 
" Mamma," said she one day, " should God spare my 
life, my time and talents shall, for the future, be devoted 
to a higher and holier end." " O mother, how sadly 
have I trifled with the gifts of Heaven ! What have I 
done which can benefit one human being ? " The 
New Testament was now her daily study, and a portion 
of each day was devoted to private prayer and self- 
examination. 

The closing scene of her life, which occurred on the 
25th November, 1838, would lose much of its interest 
in the description, if given in other than the beautiful 
and touching language of her mother. It was night, 
and, at the entreaty of her husband, Mrs. David- 
son had laid herself on the bed in a room adjoining 
that of her daughter. " Between three and four 
o'clock, the friend who watched came again, and said, 
1 Margaret has asked for her mother.' I flew. She 
held a bottle of ether in her hand, and pointed to her 
breast. I poured it on her head and chest. She 
revived. c I am better now,' said" she. ' Mother, you 
tremble ; you are cold ; put on your clothes.' I stepped 
to the fire, and put on a wrapper, when she stretched 
out both her arms, and exclaimed, ' Mother, take me in 
your arms.' I raised her, and, seating myself on the 
bed, passed both my arms around her waist; her head 
dropped on my bosom, and her expressive eyes were 



48 LUCRETIA AND MARGARET DAVIDSON. 

raised to mine. That look I never shall forget; it 
said, 4 Tell me, mother, is this death ? ' I answered the 
appeal as if she had siivken. I laid my hand upon her 
white brow ; a cold de \ \;ad gathered there. I spoke — 
4 Yes, my beloved, it iS almost finished ; you will soon 
be with Jesus.' She gave one more look, two or three 
short, fluttering breaths, and all was over ; her spirit was 
with its God : not a struggle or a groan preceded her 
departure." 

Thus perished Margaret Davidson, at the early age 
of fifteen years and eight months. Her sister Lu- 
cretia had found in Miss Sedgwick a fitting biographer, 
and the memory of Margaret has been rendered more 
dear by the touching manner in which Irving has told 
her brief but wondrous story. We cannot better close 
our imperfect sketch, than to use the words of her 
biographer : " We shall not pretend to comment on 
these records ; they need no comment, and they 
admit no heightening. Indeed, the farther we have 
proceeded with our subject, the more has the intel- 
lectual beauty and the seraphic purity of the little being 
we have endeavored to commemorate, broken upon us. 
To use one of her own exquisite expressions, she was 
4 a spirit of heaven fettered by the strong affections of 
earth,' and the whole of her brief sojourn here seems 
to have been a struggle to regain her native skies." 



MRS. ADAMS 



The materials for preparing the memoirs of those 
American ladies whose virtues were conspicuous, and 
whose position in society imposed upon them great 
duties, and gave them an extensive influence in their 
day, are, in general, exceedingly scanty. Happily, the 
piety of a descendant has, in the present case, supplied 
the deficiency ; and in a mode the most satisfactory. 
We are here not only made acquainted with the every- 
day life and actions as they were exhibited to the 
world around, but are admitted to the inmost recesses 
of the heart, and all its hopes and feelings are laid 
open to us. There are few who could bear such an 
exposure ; but in respect to the subject of our present 
sketch, a nearer acquaintance and more rigid scrutiny 
serve only to increase our veneration, and to confirm 
the verdict which her contemporaries had passed 
upon her. 

Abigail Smith, afterwards Mrs, Adams, was born on 
the 11th of November, 1744. She was the daughter 
of the Rev. William Smith, the minister of a small 
Congregational church in Weymouth, Massachusetts, 
and was descended on both sides from the genuine 
stock of the Pilgrims. 

D 5 



50 MRS. ADAMS. 

The cultivation of the female mind was neglected in 
the last century, not merely as a matter of indifference, 
but of positive principle ; female learning was a subject 
of ridicule, and " female education," as Mrs. Adams 
tells us, " in the best families, went no further than 
writing and arithmetic ; in some, and rare instances, 
music and dancing." But Mrs. Adams did not have 
an opportunity of receiving even the ordinary instruc- 
tion. She was never sent to school, the delicate state 
of her health forbidding it. But this is hardly to be 
considered matter of regret, for constant intercourse 
with her pious and talented relations had an influence 
upon her character of even greater value than the 
learning of the schools. The lessons which made the 
deepest impression upon her mind were imbibed from 
her maternal grandmother, the wife of Colonel John 
Quincy. " I have not forgotten," says Mrs. Adams, 
to her daughter, in 1795, "the excellent lessons 
which I received from my grandmother, at a very 
early period of life. I frequently think they made a 
more durable impression upon my mind than those 
which I received from my own parents. Whether it 
was owing to the happy method of mixing instruction 
and amusement together, or from an inflexible ad- 
herence to certain principles, the utility of which I 
could not but see and approve when a child, I know 
not ; but maturer years have rendered them oracles of 
wisdom to me. I love and revere her memory ; her 
lively, cheerful disposition animated all around her, 
while she edified all by her unaffected piety. This 
tribute is due to the memory of those virtues, the 



MRS. ADAMS. 51 

sweet remembrance of which will flourish, though she 
has long slept with her ancestors." 

But though the list of accomplishments thought 
essential for a young lady's education was so scanty, it 
must not be supposed that the mind was left wholly 
uncultivated. On the contrary, few women of the 
present day are so well acquainted with the standard 
English authors, as those of the period of which we 
are now speaking. The influence which they had 
on the mind of the subject of this memoir, is apparent 
throughout her published correspondence, not only 
in the style, in the fondness for quotation, but in the 
love of fictitious signatures, of which the " Spec- 
tator" had set the example. The social disposi- 
tion of youth renders an interchange of thoughts and 
feelings between those of the same age essential to 
their happiness. The sparse population, and compara- 
tively small facilities for locomotion in the last century, 
rendered personal intercourse difficult, and a frequent 
interchange of letters was adopted as a substitute. 
This, as an exercise for the mind, is of great value, as 
it induces habits of reflection, and leads to precision and 
facility in expressing ideas. 

A few of Mrs. Adams's letters, written at an early 
period of her life, have been preserved, and from one 
of these — addressed to a married lady, several years 
older than herself, which will account for a gravity 
which is beyond her years and ordinary disposition — 
the following extracts are made. It is dated at Wey- 
mouth, October 5th, 1761. 

" Your letter I received, and, believe me, it has not 
been through forgetfulness that I have not before this 



52 MRS. ADAMS. 

time returned you my sincere thanks for the kind 
assurance you then gave me of continued friendship. 
You have, I hope, pardoned my suspicions ; they arose 
from love. What persons in their right senses would 
calmly, and without repining, or even inquiring into 
the cause, submit to lose their greatest temporal good 
and happiness ? for thus the divine, Dr. Young, looks 
upon a friend, when he says, — 

c A friend is worth all hazards we can run ; 
Poor is the friendless master of a world ; 
A world in purchase for a friend is gain.' 

* * * You have, like King Ahasuerus, held forth, 
though not a golden sceptre, yet one more valuable, 
— the sceptre of friendship, if I may so call it. 
Like Esther, I would draw nigh and touch it. Will 
you proceed and say, c What will, thou ? ' and c What 
is thy request ? it shall be given thee to the half of my ' 
heart. Why, no, I think I will not have so dangerous 
a present, lest your good man should find it out and 
challenge me. * * * And now let me ask you, 
whether you do not think that many of our disap- 
pointments, and much of our unhappiness, arise from 
our forming false notions of things and persons. We 
strangely impose on ourselves ; we create a fairy land 
of happiness. Fancy is fruitful, and promises fair, 
but, like the dog in the fable, we catch at a shadow, 
and, when we find the disappointment, we are vexed, 
not with ourselves, who are really the impostors, but 
with the poor, innocent thing or person of whom we 
have formed such strange ideas. * * * You bid me 
tell one of my sparks — I think that was the word — to 



~3IRS. ADAMS. 53 

bring me to see you. Why, I believe you think they 
are as plenty as herrings, when, alas ! there is as great 
a scarcity of them as there is of justice, honesty, pru- 
dence, and many other virtues. I've no pretensions to 
one. Wealth, wealth is the only thing that is looked 
after now. 'Tis said Plato thought, if Virtue would 
appear to the world, all mankind would be enamored 
of her ; but now interest governs the world, and men 
neglect the golden mean." 

At the age of twenty, Miss Smith became the wife 
of John Adams, afterwards president of the United 
States. Connected with this event, an anecdote is re- 
lated, which, as an indication of the fashion of the day, 
and of the disposition of the bride's father, is too good 
to be passed over. Maiy, the eldest daughter of Mr. 
Smith, was married to Richard Cranch, an English 
emigrant, and, as it would appear, with the approbation 
of all parties ; for, upon the Sabbath following, he 
preached to his people from the text, " And Mary hath 
chosen that good part, which shall not be taken from 
her." But Abigail was not so fortunate ; for her match, 
it would seem, met the disapprobation of some of her 
father's parishioners, either on account of the profession 
of Mr. Adams, — that of the law, — which was then an 
obnoxious one to many people, who deemed it dishon- 
est ; or because they did not consider Mr. Adams — the 
son of a small farmer — a sufficiently good match for 
the daughter of one of the shining lights of the colony. 
Mr. Smith, having become aware of the feeling which 
existed, took notice of it in a sermon from the following 
text : " For John came neither eating bread nor drink- 
ing wine, and ye sav, He hath a devil," 
5* 



54 MRS. ADAMS. 

The first ten years of Mrs. Adams's married life 
were passed in a quiet and happy manner ; her enjoy- 
ment suffering no interruptions except those occasioned 
by the short absences of her husband, when he at- 
tended the courts. In this period she became the 
mother of a daughter and three sons, of whom John 
Quincy Adams was the eldest. 

All are familiar with the distinguished part per- 
formed by Mr. Adams in the scenes which immedi- 
ately preceded our revolution. In all his feelings and 
actions he had the sympathy and support of his wife, 
who had thus in some measure become prepared for 
the stormy period which was at hand. 

Mr. Adams, having been appointed one of the dele- 
gates to the congress to be held at Philadelphia, left 
home in August, 1774 ; and on the 19th of that month, 
we find the following letter addressed to him by his 
wife : — 

" The great distance between us makes the time 
appear very long to me. " It seems already a month 
since you left me. The great anxiety I feel for my 
country, for you, and for our family, renders the day 
tedious, and the night unpleasant. The rocks and the 
quicksands appear on every side. What course you 
can and will take is all wrapped in the bosom of 
futurity. Uncertainty and expectation leave the mind 
great scope. Did ever any kingdom or state regain 
its liberty, when once it was invaded, without blood- 
shed ? I cannot think of it without horror. Yet we 
are told, that all the misfortunes of Sparta were 
occasioned by their too great solicitude for present 
tranquillity ; and from an excessive love of peace, they 



MRS. ADAMS. 55 

neglected the means of making it sure and lasting. 
* # * i nave taken a V ery great fondness for reading 
Kollin's Ancient History. I am determined to go 
through it, if possible, in these my days of solitude. 
I find great pleasure and entertainment from it, and 
I have persuaded Johnny to read me a page or two 
every day, and hope he will, from his desire to oblige 
me, entertain a fondness for it. I want much to hear 
from you. I long impatiently to have you upon the 
stage of action. The 1st of September may, perhaps, 
be of as much importance to Great Britain, as the ides 
of March to Caasar. I wish you every public and pri- 
vate blessing, and that wisdom which is profitable for 
instruction and edification, to conduct 'you in this diffi- 
cult day." 

She perceived, at a very early period, that the con- 
flict would not be speedily settled, and of the personal 
consequences to herself she speaks in the following 
affecting terms : " Far from thinking the scene closed, 
it looks as though the curtain was but just drawn, and 
only the first scene of the infernal plot disclosed : 
whether the end will be tragical, Heaven alone knows. 
You cannot be, I know, nor do I wish to see you, an 
inactive spectator ; but, if the sword be drawn, I bid 
adieu to all domestic felicity, and look forward to that 
country where there are neither wars nor rumors of 
wars, in a firm belief that, through the mercy of its 
King, we shall both rejoice there together." 

Indeed, from this period till she joined her husband 
in Europe, in 1784, she enjoyed very little of his 
society. Had the state of the times rendered it safe 
or agreeable for her to have accompanied her husband 



56 MRS. ADAMS. 

in his journeys and voyages, the circumstances of the 
family would not have allowed it. Without hereditary 
fortune, with no opportunity of practising in his pro- 
fession, and now serving the public for a price which 
would not defray his actual and necessary expenses, 
— Mr. Adams would have been, in his old age, in 
the lamentable condition of many of the most active 
patriots of the revolution, who, devoting their years of 
vigorous manhood to the service of their country, were 
left, in their declining days, in a state of penury, — had 
he not possessed in his wife a helper suited to the 
exigency. She husbanded their small property, the 
savings of years of professional prosperity ; she man- 
aged the farm with skill ; and in all matters of business 
she displayed a degree of judgment and sagacity not to 
be exceeded. All the powers of her mind were now 
called into activity, and her character displayed itself 
in the most favorable colors. The official rank of her 
husband imposed high duties upon her ; her timid 
neighbors looked to her for support and comfort, and 
she was never found wanting. 

The absence of Mr. Adams relieved his wife from 
one source of anxiety — that for his personal safety. 
As the conflict in the early periods of the revolution 
was confined to the vicinity of Boston, and as the 
feelings of parties were more exasperated here than 
elsewhere, he would have been in the greatest danger 
at home. It was a comfort to her that her husband 
should " be absent a little while from the scenes of per- 
turbation, anxiety, and distress," which surrounded her. 

As from her residence she could be an eye-witness 
of few of the events, the details of which she relates, 



MRS. ADAMS. 57 

her letters are of most value as furnishing a lively 
exhibition of her own and of the public feeling. One 
event, which passed under her own observation, she 
thus describes : " In consequence of the powder 
being taken from Charlestown, a general alarm spread 
through many towns, and was pretty soon caught 
here. On Sunday, a soldier was seen lurking about, 
supposed to be a spy, but most likely a deserter. 
However, intelligence of it was communicated to the 
other parishes, and about eight o'clock, Sunday even- 
ing, there passed by here about two hundred men, 
preceded by a horse-cart, and marched down to the 
powder-house, from whence they took the powder, find 
carried it into the other parish, and there secreted it. 
I opened the window upon their return. They passed 
without any noise, — not a word among them, — till they 
came against the house, when some of them, perceiv- 
ing me, asked me if I wanted any powder. I replied, 
No, since it was in so good hands. The reason they 
gave for taking it was, that we had so many tories 
here, they dared not trust it ; they had taken the sheriff 
in their train, and upon their return they stopped 
between Cleverly's and Eltee's, and called upon him 
to deliver two warrants.* Upon his producing them, 
they put it to vote whether they should burn them, and 
it passed in the affirmative. They then made a circle 
and burnt them. They then called a vote whether 
they should huzza, but, it being Sunday evening, it 
passed in the negative. * * * This town appears as 
high as you can well imagine, and, if necessary, 

* For summoning juries. 



5& MRS. ADAMS. 

would soon be in arms. Not a tory but hides his 
head. The church parson thought they were coming 
after him, and ran up garret ; they say another jumped 
out of his window, and hid among the corn ; while a 
third crept under his board fence, and told his beads." 
In the midst of her public cares and anxieties, she 
did not neglect her sacred duties as a mother. The 
care of the education of her four children devolved 
entirely upon her, and " Johnny " was at an age to 
require much attention. This subject occupied much 
of her thoughts ; and, indeed, the greatest value of her 
published correspondence consists in the hints which it 
gives us of the course of culture pursued in producing 
those glorious fruits of which other generations have 
had the enjoyment. She carefully guarded against 
the contagion of vice at that period when the mind 
and heart are most susceptible to impressions. " I 
have always thought it," she says to her husband, " of 
very great importance that children should, in the 
early part of life, be unaccustomed to such examples 
as would tend to corrupt the purity of their words and 
actions, that they may chill with horror at the sound 
of an oath, and blush with indignation at an obscene 
expression. These first principles, which grow with 
their growth and strengthen with their strength, 
neither time nor custom can totally eradicate." By 
precept, and much more by example, she sought to 
instil principles, and to form habits, which should lead 
to the practice of every virtue. Can we be surprised 
at the abhorrence which her " illustrious son of an 
illustrious mother" has ever exhibited to oppression, 
when we find her thus expressing her sentiments in 



MRS. ADAMS. 59 

behalf of the oppressed, at a time when the subject of 
which she speaks had not excited any attention either 
in Europe or America ? — "I wish sincerely there was 
not a slave in the province ; it always appeared to me 
a most iniquitous scheme to fight ourselves for what 
we are daily robbing and plundering from those who 
have as good a right to freedom as we have." 

During the recess of Congress, Mr. Adams was at 
home, but left it again for Philadelphia on the 14th 
April, 1775. Four days afterwards the expedition to 
Lexington and Concord took place. The news of this 
event reached Mr. A. at Hartford ; he did not, however, 
yield to his anxieties and return, but contented himself 
by sending home encouragement and advice. After 
saying that he never feels any personal fear, he adds, 
" I am often concerned for you and our dear babes, sur- 
rounded as you are by people who are too timorous, 
and too much susceptible of alarm. Many fears and 
imaginary evils will be suggested to you, but I hope 
you will not be impressed by them. In case of real 
danger, fly to the woods with my children." 

Mrs. Adams might be excused for entertaining 
fears ; her residence was near the sea-coast, and the 
enemy sent out foraging expeditions : the point of 
destination was perhaps some island in the harbor; 
but of this there could be no certainty. Of one of 
the alarms thus occasioned, Mrs. Adams writes to 
her husband as follows : " I suppose you have had a 
formidable account of the alarm we had last Sunday 
morning. When I rose, about six o'clock, I was told 
that the drums had been some time beating, and that 
three alarm guns were fired; that Weymouth bell had 



60 MRS. ADAMS, 

been ringing, and Mr. Weld's was then ringing. I 
sent off an express to learn the cause, and found the 
whole town in confusion. Three sloops and a cutter 
had dropped anchor just below Great Hill. It was 
difficult to tell their designs : some supposed they 
were coming to Germantown, others to Weymouth : 
people, women, children, came flocking down this 
way ; every woman and child driven off below my 
father's ; my father's family flying. The alarm flew 
like lightning, and men from all parts came flocking 
down, till two thousand were collected. But it seems 
their expedition was to Grape Island, for Levett's hay." 
" They delight," says she, on another occasion, " in 
molesting us upon the Sabbath. Two Sabbaths we 
have been in such alarm that we have had no meeting ; 
this day we have sat under our own vine in quietness ; 
have heard Mr. Taft. The good man was earnest 
and pathetic. I could forgive his weakness for the 
sake of his sincerity ; but I long for a Cooper and an 
Elliot. I want a person who has feeling and sen- 
sibility ; who can take one up with him, 

And ' in his duty prompt at every call,' 

Can ' watch, and weep, and pray, and feel for all.' " 

The battle of Bunker's Hill followed soon, and, from 
the top of the highest house in Braintree, Mrs. Adams 
beheld the conflagration of Charlestown. But she does 
not lose her courage. In writing to her husband, she 
seeks to lessen his anxieties. " I would not," says she, 
" have you be distressed about me. I have been dis- 
tressed, but not dismayed. I have felt for my country 
and her sons, and have bled with them and for them." 



MRS. ADAMS. 61 

The appointment of General Washington to the 
command of the army, then stationed at Cambridge, 
inspired new confidence. Mrs. Adams thus speaks 
of the impression made by her first interview with 
him and General Lee : " I was struck with General 
Washington. You had prepared me to entertain a 
favorable opinion of him ; but I thought the half was 
not told me. Dignity with ease and complacency, 
the gentleman and soldier, look agreeably blended in 
him. Modesty marks every line and feature of his 
face. Those lines of Dryden instantly occurred to 
me — 

1 Mark his majestic fabric ! he's a temple 
Sacred by birth, and built by hands divine ; 
His soul 's the deity that lodges there ; 
Nor is the pile unworthy of the god.' 

General Lee looks like a careless, hardy veteran, 
and, by his appearance, brought to my mind his name- 
sake, Charles XII. of Sweden. The elegance of his 
pen far exceeds that of his person." 

The horrors of war were now aggravated by those 
of pestilence. From the British army in Boston, the 
dysentery had spread into the surrounding country. 
Mrs. Adams and her whole family were attacked. 
" Our house," she writes to her husband, September 
8, 1775, "is a hospital in every part, and, what with 
my own weakness and distress of mind for my family, 
I have been unhappy enough. And such is the dis- 
tress of the neighborhood, that I can scarcely find a 
well person to assist me in looking after the sick." 
Again on the 25th she writes, "I sit with a heavy 
6 



62 MRS. ADAMS, 

heart to write to you. Woe follows woe, and one 
affliction treads upon the heels of another. My dis- 
tress in my own family having in some measure 
abated, it is excited anew upon that of my dear 
mother. She has taken the disorder, and lies so bad, 
that we have little hope of her recovery." On the 
29th, " It is allotted me to go from the sick and almost 
dying bed of one of the best of parents, to my own 
habitation, where again I behold the same scene, only 
varied by a remoter connection — 

1 A bitter change, severer for severe.' 

You can more easily conceive than I can describe 
what are the sensations of my heart when absent from 
either, continually expecting a messenger with the 
fatal tidings." "The desolation of war is not so 
distressing as the havoc made by pestilence. Some 
poor parents are mourning the loss of three, four, and 
five children ; and some families are wholly stripped 
of every member." 

But the hand of the pestilence was stayed, and her 
country again engrosses her thoughts. She very 
early declares herself for independence, and won- 
ders how any honest heart can hesitate at adopting 
the same sentiment. An attempt to drive the enemy 
from Boston is meditated, and she tells us that she has 
been kept in a state of anxiety and expectation. " It 
has been said l to-morrow ' and 6 to-morrow ' for this 
month ; but when this dreadful to-morrow will be, I 
know not. But hark ! The house this instant shakes 
with the roar of cannon. I have been to the door, and 



MRS. ADAMS. 63 

find it a cannonade from our army." The militia are 
all ordered to repair to the lines. The result was 
thus related : " I have just returned from Penn's Hill, 
where I have been sitting to hear the amazing roar of 
cannon, and from whence I could see every shell 
which was thrown. The sound, I think, is one of the 
grandest in nature, and is of the true species of the 
sublime. * * * I could no more sleep than if I 
had been in the engagement : the rattling of the win- 
dows, the jar of the house, the continual roar of 
twenty-four pounders, and the bursting of shells, give 
us such ideas, and realize a scene to us of which we 
could form scarcely any conception. * * * All my 
distress and anxiety is at present at an end. I feel 
disappointed. This day our militia are all returning 
without effecting any thing more than taking posses- 
sion of Dorchester Hill. I hope it is wise and just, 
but, from all the muster and stir, I hoped and expected 
more important and decisive scenes. I would not 
have suffered all I have for two such hills." The 
British soon afterwards evacuated Boston, and Mas- 
sachusetts never again became the theatre of war. 

In 1778, the fortitude of Mrs. Adams received a 
new trial. Her husband was appointed one of the 
commissioners at the court of France. The sea was 
covered with the enemy's ships ; and, should he escape 
these and all the natural dangers of the seas, and 
arrive at the place of his destination in safety, rumor 
said that he would there be exposed to one of a more 
terrific character, "to the dark assassin, to the secret 
murderer, and the bloody emissary of as cruel a 
tyrant as God, in his righteous judgments, ever suf- 



64 MRS. ADAMS. 

fered to disgrace the throne of Britain. I have," con- 
tinues Mrs. Adams, writing soon after her husband's 
departure, " travelled with you across the Atlantic, 
and could have landed you safe, with humble confi- 
dence, at your desired haven, and then have set 
myself down to enjoy a negative kind of happiness, 
in the painful part which it has pleased Heaven to 
allot me ; but the intelligence with regard to that 
great philosopher, able statesman, and unshaken 
friend of his country," — alluding to a report of Dr. 
Franklin's assassination in Paris, — has planted a dag- 
ger in my breast, and I feel with a double edge the 
weapon that pierced his bosom. * * * To my dear 
son remember me in the most affectionate terms. 
Enjoin it upon him never to disgrace his mother, and 
to behave worthily of his father. I console myself 
with the hopes of his reaping advantages under the 
careful eye of a tender parent, which it was not in my 
power to bestow." Mr. Adams was accompanied by 
Jtiis eldest son, John Quincy Adams, and, after incur- 
ring various hazards from lightning, storm, and the 
enemy, arrived in France. The maternal solicitude 
of Mrs. Adams relieved itself in part by writing letters 
to her son filled with the warmest affection and the 
most wise counsel. She urges it upon him " to 
adhere to those religious sentiments and principles 
which were early instilled into your mind, and remem- 
ber that you are accountable to your Maker for all 
your words and actions.. Great learning and superior 
abilities, should you ever possess them, will be of 
little value and small estimation, unless virtue, honoi, 
truth, and integrity, are added to them. Dear as you 



MRS. ADAMS. 65 

are to me, I would much rather you should have found 
a grave in the ocean you have crossed, than see you 
an immoral, profligate, or graceless child." 

As has already been said, Mrs. Adams managed 
her husband's money affairs at home. A short extract 
from one of her business letters to him may be inter- 
esting, and will show how a matter always trouble- 
some was in such times doubly so : " The safest way, 
you tell me, of supplying my wants, is by drafts ; but 
I cannot get hard money for bills. You had as good 
tell me to procure diamonds for them ; and when bills 
will fetch but five for one, hard money will exchange 
ten, which I think is very provoking ; and I must give 
at the rate of ten, and sometimes twenty, for one, for 
every article I purchase. I blush whilst I give you a 
price current ; all meat from a dollar to eight shil- 
lings a pound ; corn twenty-five dollars, rye thirty, 
per bushel ; flour two hundred dollars per hundred 
pounds ; potatoes ten dollars per bushel, &c. I have 
studied, and do study, every method of economy ; 
otherwise a mint of money would not support a family. 
I could not board our sons under forty dollars a week 
at school. * * * We have been greatly distressed for 
grain. I scarcely know the looks or taste of biscuit 
or flour for this four months ; yet thousands have been 
much worse off, having no grain of any sort." Nor 
were things then at the worst ; for in October, 1780, 
we find "meat eight dollars, and butter twelve, per 
pound ; corn one hundred and twenty dollars, and rye 
one hundred and eight, per bushel ; tea ninety dollars, 
and cotton wool thirty, per pound." But our readers 
must not suppose that this was entirely owing to a 
r. 6* 



66 



MRS. ADAMS. 



scarcity of products ; these prices are in " continental 
money," seventy dollars of which would hardly com- 
mand one of " hard money." 

Hitherto Mr. Adams's residence had seemed too un- 
settled to render it worth while for his wife to under- 
take a long and dangerous voyage to meet him. But 
after the acknowledgment of our independence by 
Great Britain, a commission was sent to Mr. Adams 
as first minister to that court ; and it was probable 
that his residence there would be sufficiently long to 
justify him in a request to Mrs. Adams to join him. 
The feelings of the latter on the subject were thus ex- 
pressed before the appointment was actually made : 
" I have not a wish to join in a scene of life so dif- 
ferent from that in which I have been educated, and 
in which my early, and, I must suppose, happier days 
have been spent. Well-ordered home is my chief 
delight, and the affectionate, domestic wife, with the 
relative duties which accompany that character, my 
highest ambition. It was the disinterested wish of 
sacrificing my personal feelings to the public utility, 
which first led me to think of unprotectedly hazarding 
a voyage. This objection could only be surmounted 
by the earnest wish I had to soften those toils which 
were not to be dispensed with ; and if the public wel- 
fare required your labors and exertions abroad, I 
flattered myself that, if I could be with you, it might 
be in my power to contribute to your happiness and 
pleasure." " I think, if you were abroad in a private 
character, I should not hesitate so much at coming to 
you; but a mere American, as I am, unacquainted 
with the etiquette of courts, taught to say the thing 1 



MRS. ADAMS. 67 

mean, and to wear my heart in my countenance, — - 1 
am sure I should make an awkward figure ; and then 
it would mortify my pride, if I should be thought to 
disgrace you." 

In spite, however, of this reluctance, she embarked 
on board the Active, a merchant ship, for London. 
Of this voyage Mrs. Adams has given a most graphic 
and not very agreeable picture ; and nothing can pre- 
sent a greater contrast than her dirty, close, narrow 
quarters, on board a vessel deeply loaded with oil and 
potash, — the oil leaking, and the potash smoking and 
fermenting, — with the floating palaces in which the 
voyage is now made. The culinary department was 
in keeping with the rest of the ship. " The cook was 
a great, dirty, lazy negro, with no more knowledge of 
cookery than a savage ; nor any kind of order in the 
distribution of his dishes ; but on they come, higgledy- 
piggledy, with a leg of pork all bristly ; a quarter of 
an hour afterwards, a pudding ; or, perhaps, a pair of 
roast fowls first of all, and then will follow, one by one, 
a piece of beef, and, when dinner is nearly completed, 
a plate of potatoes. Such a fellow is a real imposition 
upon the passengers. But gentlemen know but little 
about the matter, and if they can get enough to eat five 
times a day, all goes well." Yet the passengers, of 
whom there were a number, were agreeable, and, as the 
wind and weather were favorable, the voyage did not 
last more than thirty days. 

She hoped to have found Mr. Adams in London, 
but he was at the Hague ; and " Master John," after 
waiting a month for her in London, had returned to the 



68 MRS, ADAMS. 

latter place. She received, however, every attention 
from the numerous Americans then in London, refugees 
as well as others, many of whom had been her persona) 
friends at home. Ten days were spent in sight-seeing, 
on the last of which a servant comes running in, ex- 
claiming, " Young Mr. Adams has come ! " " Where, 
where is he?" cried out all. "In the other house, 
madam ; he stopped to get his hair dressed. " " Im- 
patient enough I was," continues Mrs. A. ; " yet, when 
he entered, we had so many strangers, that I drew 
back, not really believing my eyes, till he cried out, 
' O my mamma, and my dear sister ! 1 Nothing but 
the eyes, at first sight, appeared what he once was. 
His appearance is that of a man, and on his counte- 
nance the most perfect good-humor ; his conversation 
by no means denies his stature." 

Her first year in Europe was spent at Auteuil, near 
Paris, and she seems to have enjoyed herself, in spite 
of her ignorance of the language ; though she some- 
times expresses her longing for home and the enjoy- 
ment of social intercourse with her friends in America. 
Her letters, during this period, present us with a lively 
picture of the state of society and of manners. We have 
space only for her account of her first visit to madame 
de la Fayette. " The marquise met me at the door, 
and with the freedom of an old acquaintance, and the 
rapture peculiar to the ladies of this nation, caught me 
by the hand, and gave me a salute upon each cheek. 
She presented me to her mother and sister, who were 
present with her, all sitting in her bedroom, quite 
en famille. One of the ladies was knitting. The 
marquise herself was in a chintz gown. She is a 



MRS. ADAMS. Qi) 

middle-sized lady, sprightly and agreeable, and pro- 
fesses herself strongly attached to Americans. She is 
fond of her children, and very attentive to them, which 
is not the general character of ladies of high rank in 
Europe. In a few days, she returned my visit, upon 
which I sent her a card of invitation to dine. She 
came. We had a large company. There is not a lady 
in our country who would have gone abroad to dine so 
little dressed ; and one of our fine American ladies, 
who sat by me, whispered to me, ' Good heavens ! how 
awfully she is dressed ! ' I could not forbear returning 
the whisper, which I most sincerely despised, by 
replying that the lady's rank sets her above the little 
formalities of dress. The rouge, 'tis true, was not so 
artfully laid on, as upon the faces of the American 
ladies who were present. Whilst they were glittering 
with diamonds, buckles, watch-chains, girdle-buckles, 
&c, the marquise was nowise ruffled by her own 
different appearance. A really well-bred French- 
woman has the most ease in her manners that you 
can possibly conceive of." 

In June, 1784, Mr. Adams took up his residence in 
London. His situation and that of his wife was far 
from being a pleasant one. The hostile feelings to- 
wards Americans, engendered by so many years of 
warfare, and exasperated by the mortification of ill-suc- 
cess, had not subsided. The loss of his North Amer- 
ican colonies was severely felt by the king, who had 
too much good sense, however, to suffer his feelings to 
appear in his intercourse with the new minister ; but 
the queen, who, though exemplary in the discharge of 
domestic duties, was weak-minded, proud, and petulant 



70 MRS. ADAMS, 

could not conceal her bitterness, and her conduct 
towards Mrs. Adams was hardly civil. Perhaps, how- 
ever, the account of it given by the latter is colored 
by her own prejudices against the royal family, which, 
throughout her life were expressed in the strongest 
language, and which, towards the king, at least, were 
entirely unjust. Her presentation at court could not 
but be somewhat embarrassing and awkward to all 
parties. The manner in which it passed shall be related 
in her own words. " The ceremony of presentation is 
considered as indispensable. One is obliged to attend 
the circles of the queen, which are held in summer 
once a fortnight, but once a week the rest of the year ; 
and what renders it very expensive, is, that you cannot 
go twice the same season in the same dress, and a 
court dress cannot be used any where else. I directed 
my mantua-maker to let my dress be elegant, but as 
plain as it could be, with decency ; accordingly it is 
white lutestring, covered and full trimmed with white 
crape, festooned with lilac ribbon and mock point lace, 
over a hoop of enormous extent ; a narrow train of 
three yards, which is put into a ribbon on the left side, 
the queen only having a train-bearer. Ruffle cuffs, 
treble lace ruffles, a very dress cap, with long lace 
lappets, two white plumes, and a blond lace handker- 
chief — this is my rigging. I should have mentioned 
two pearl pins in my hair, ear-rings and necklace of 
the same kind. * * * i Well,' methinks I hear you 
say, ' what is your daughter's dress ? ' White, my 
dear girls, like her mother's, only differently trimmed ; 
her train being wholly of white crape, and trimmed 
with white ribbon ; the petticoat, which is the most 



MRS. ADAMS. 71 

showy part of the dress, covered and drawn up in what 
are called festoons, with light wreaths of beautiful 
flowers ; sleeves white crape, drawn over the silk, with 
a row of lace round the sleeve, near the shoulder, 
another half way down the arm, and a third upon the 
top of the ruffle, a little flower stuck between ; a kind 
of hat cap, with three large feathers, and a bunch of 
flowers ; a wreath of flowers upon the hair. * * * 
We were placed in a circle round the drawing-room, 
which was very full, I believe two hundred persons 
present. The royal family have to go to every person, 
and find small talk enough to speak to all, though they 
very prudently speak in a whisper. The king enters, 
and goes round to the right ; the queen and princesses 
to the left. The king is a personable man, but with a 
red face and white eyebrows. The queen has a sim- 
ilar face, and the numerous royal family resemble 
them. When the king came to me, Lord Onslaw 
said, c Mrs. Adams ; ' upon which I drew off my right 
hand glove, and his majesty saluted my left cheek, 
then asked me if I had taken a walk to-day. I could 
have told his majesty that I had been all the morning 
preparing to wait upon him ; but I replied, 4 No, sire.' 
'Why, don't you love walking ? ' says he. I an- 
swered that I was rather indolent in that respect. He 
then bowed and passed on. It was more than two 
hours after this, before it came my turn to be presented 
to the queen. She was evidently embarrassed when I 
was presented to her. I had disagreeable feelings too. 
She, however, said, c Mrs. Adams, have you got into 
your house ? Pray, how do you like the situation of 
it ? ' whilst the royal princess looked compassionate 



72 



MRS. ADAMS. 



and asked me if I was not much fatigued. Her sister, 
Princess Augusta, after having asked your niece if she 
was ever in England before, and her answering, l Yes,' 
inquired of me how long ago, and supposed it was 
when she was very young. And all this with much 
affability, and the ease and freedom of old acquaint- 
ance. * * * As to the ladies of the court, rank and 
title may compensate for want of personal charms ; but 
they are, in general, very plain, ill-shaped, and ugly; 
but don't you tell any body that I say so ; the obser- 
vation did not hold good, that fine feathers make fine 
birds." Referring to this same occasion in a subse- 
quent letter, she says, " I own that I never felt myself 
in a more contemptible situation than when I stood 
four hours together for a gracious smile from majesty, 
a witness to the anxious solicitude of those around me 
for the same mighty boon. I, however, had a more 
dignified honor, as his majesty deigned to salute me." 
Of other sources of annoyance Mrs. Adams thus 
speaks : " Some years hence, it may be a pleasure to 
reside here in the character of American minister ; 
but, with the present salary, and the present temper 
of the English, no one need envy the embassy. There 
would soon be fine work, if any notice was taken of 
their billingsgate and abuse ; but all their arrows 
rebound, and fall harmless to the ground. Amidst 
all their falsehoods, they have never insinuated a lisp 
against the private character of the American minister, 
nor in his public line charged him with either want 
of abilities, honor, or integrity. The whole venom is 
levelled against poor America, and every effort to 
make her appear ridiculous in the eyes of the nation." 



• MRS. ADAMS. 78 

It would have been difficult to find a person better 
adapted than Mrs. Adams for the trying situation in 
which she found herself. In other times, a woman of 
more yielding temper, who could adapt herself more 
readily to those about her, would, perhaps, answer 
better. Love of country was engrained in her ; for 
her " the birds of Europe had not half the melody of 
those at home ; the fruit was not half so sweet, nor 
the flowers half so fragrant, nor the manners half so 
pure, nor the people half so virtuous." Three years' 
residence in England produced no change of feeling. 
In anticipation of a return to her home, we find her 
writing thus : " I shall quit Europe with more pleasure 
than I came to it, uncontaminated, I hope, with its 
manners and vices. I have learned to know the 
world and its value ; I have seen high life ; I have 
witnessed the luxury and pomp of state, the power of 
riches, and the influence of titles, and have beheld all 
ranks bow before them, as the only shrine worthy of 
worship. Notwithstanding this, I feel that I can return 
to my little cottage, and be happier than here ; and, if 
we have not wealth, we have what is better — integrity." 

Soon after Mr. Adams's return, he was elected vice- 
president of the United States, and took up his resi- 
dence, at least during the sessions of Congress, first 
at New York, and afterwards at Philadelphia. The 
" court " of General Washington was much more to 
the taste of Mrs. Adams than that of George 111. ; the 
circle at the first " drawing-room," she tells us, was 
very brilliant ; that " the dazzling Mrs. Bingham and 
her charming sisters were there ; in short, a constella- 
tion of beauties." 

The next eight years of her life, during which her 
7 



74 MKS. ADAMS. 

husband held the office of vice-president, were passed 
with few incidents to disturb her happiness. Another 
generation, the children of her daughter, who was 
married to Colonel Smith, were receiving the benefits 
of her instruction and experience. 

A residence at Philadelphia was not favorable to 
her health, which, never having been very firm, about 
this period began decidedly to fail. The bracing air 
of Quincy was found to be more congenial. For this 
reason, she was not with her husband at the time when 
his official duty required him to announce himself as 
the successor to General Washington ; and to this cir- 
cumstance we are indebted for the following letter, 
— written on the day on which the votes were counted 
by the Senate, — in which, says her biographer, "the 
exalted feeling of the moment shines out with all the 
lustre of ancient patriotism, chastened by a sentiment 
of Christian humility of which ancient history furnishes 
no example : " — 

" Quincy, February 8th, 1797. 

" * The sun is dressed in brightest beams, 
To give thy honors to the day.' 

And may it prove an auspicious prelude to each 
ensuing season. You have this day to declare your- 
self head of a nation. ( And now, O Lord, thou hast 
made thy servant ruler over the people. Give unto 
him an understanding heart, that he may know how to 
go out and come in before this great people ; that he 
may discern between good and bad. For who is able 
to judge this thy so great a people ? ' were the words 
of a royal sovereign, and not less applicable to him 
who is invested with the chief magistracy of a nation, 



MRS. ADAMS. 75 

though he wear not a crown, nor the robes of royalty. 
My thoughts and my meditations are with you, though 
personally absent; and my petitions to Heaven are, 
that the 'things which make for peace may not be 
hidden from your eyes.' My feelings are not those 
of pride or ostentation. They are solemnized by a 
sense of the obligations, the important trusts, and 
numerous duties, connected with it. That you may 
be enabled to discharge them with honor to yourself, 
with justice and impartiality to your country, and with 
satisfaction to this great people, shall be the daily 
prayer of your A. A." 

Never has this country witnessed such scenes as 
characterized the struggle between the two great 
political parties which divided the people during Mr. 
Adams's administration. As the representative of 6*ne 
of these, he was assailed with an asperity and ma- 
lignity to which, happily, succeeding electioneering 
furnishes no parallel. Accustomed to take a warm 
interest in political events, it could not be expected that 
Mrs. Adams should cease to do so when her husband 
was the chief actor; nor is it surprising that she 
should have felt what she deemed the ingratitude of 
his countrymen in casting aside so long-tried and 
faithful a servant. Retirement to private life was to 
her a source of rejoicing rather than of regret. At 
her age, and with her infirmities, she was far happier 
at Quincy, overseeing the operations of her dairy, 
whilst her husband, like Cincinnatus, assumed the 
plough. She has left a record of one day's life ; and 
from this we suppose other days varied but little. 
It is in a letter to her granddaughter, dated No- 



76 



MRS. ADAMS. 



vember 19th, 1812. " Six o'clock. Rose, and, in 
imitation of his Britannic majesty, kindled my own 
fire. Went to the stairs, as usual, to summon George 
and Charles. Returned to my chamber, dressed my- 
self. No one stirred. Called a second time, with a 
voice a little raised. Seven o'clock. Blockheads not 
out of bed. Girls in motion. Mean, when I hire 
another man-servant, that he shall come for one call. 
Eight o'clock. Fires made. Breakfast prepared. 
Mr. A. at the tea-board. Forgot the sausages. Su- 
san's recollection brought them upon the table. En- 
ter Ann. ' Ma'am, the man is come with coal.' ' Go 
call George to assist him.' Exit Ann. Enter Charles. 
'Mr. B. is come with cheese, turnips, &c. Where 
are they to be put ? ' 'I will attend to him myself.' 
Exit Charles. Just seated at the table again. Enter 
George, with, 4 Ma'am, here is a man with a drove of 
pigs.' A consultation is held upon this important 
subject, the result of which is the purchase of two 
spotted swine. Nine o'clock. Enter Nathaniel from 
the upper house, with a message for sundries ; and 
black Thomas's daughter for sundries. Attended to 
all these concerns. A little out of sorts that I could 
not finish my breakfast. Note; never to be incom- 
moded with trifles. Enter George Adams from the , 
post-office — a large packet from Russia, (to which 
court her son J. Q. Adams was then minister.) 
Avaunt, all cares ! I put you all aside, and thus I find 
good news from a far country. Children, grandchildren 
all well. For this blessing I give thanks. At twelve 
o'clock, by previous engagement, I was to call for 
cousin B. Smith, to accompany me to the bridge at 
Quincy Port, being the first day of passing it. Passed 



MRS. ADAMS. 11 

both bridges, and entered Hingham. Returned before 
three. Dined, and, at five, went to Mr. T. G. Smith, 
with your grandfather — the third visit he has made 
with us in the week ; and let me whisper to you, he 
played at whist. Returned. At nine, sat down and 
wrote a letter. At eleven, retired to bed. By all this 
you will learn that grandmother has got rid of her 
croaking, and that grandfather is in good health, and 
that both of us are as tranquil as that bold old fellow, 
Time, will let us be. Here I was interrupted in my 
narrative. I reassume my pen upon the 22d of No- 
vember, being this day sixty-eight years old." * 

From 1801 until her death, in 1818, Mrs. Adams 
resided at Quincy. Cheerful and retaining the pos- 
session of her faculties to the last, she enlivened the 
social circle about her, and solaced the solitary hours 
of her husband. She lived long enough to see the 
seeds of virtue and knowledge which she had planted 
in the minds of her children, spring up and ripen into 
maturity ; to receive a recompense, in addition to the 
consciousness of duty performed, for her anxiety and 
labors, in the respect and honors which her eldest son 
received from his countrymen. 

* President Adams survived his excellent lady several years, 
and died on the 4th of July, 1826, aged ninety-one. On the 
morning of the jubilee, he was roused by the ringing of bells 
and the firing of cannon. Being asked if he knew what day 
it was, he replied, " Oyes, it is the glorious 4th of July — God 
bless it! God bless you all!" Just before he expired, he 
said, " Jefferson survives; " but at one o'clock that very day, 
Jefferson rendered up his spirit to his Maker. The family 
residence of John Adams at Quincy is the residence of his 
distinguished son, John Quincy Adams. 




MRS. WASHINGTON. 



MRS. WASHINGTON. 



Martha Dandridge was born in the county of New 
Kent, Virginia, in May, 1732. Her education was en- 
tirely of a domestic character, there being no schools 
in the region where she dwelt. As she grew up, she 
was distinguished for personal beauty, pleasing man- 
ners, and general amiability of demeanor. She fre- 
quently appeared at the court of Williamsburg, then 
held by the royal governors of Virginia, and became a 
general favorite. 

At the age of seventeen, she was married to Daniel 
Park Custis, of her native county, and the new-mar- 
ried couple were settled at the White House, on the 
banks of the Pamunkey River. Mr. Custis devoted 
himself to agricultural pursuits, and became an emi- 
nently successful planter. They had four children, 
two of whom died at an early period. Martha arrived 
at womanhood, and died at Mount Vernon, in 1770, and 
John perished at the age of twenty-seven, while in the 
service of his country, at the siege of Yorktown, in 
1781. Mr. Custis died at about middle age, leaving 
his widow, still young, yet possessed of an ample 
fortune. Beside extensive landed estates, she had 
,£30,000 sterling in money. 



80 MRS. WASHINGTON. 

Mrs. Custis was sole executor of her husband's will, 
and she appears to have been well qualified to dis- 
charge the duties which devolved upon her. She 
conducted her affairs with surprising ability, and the 
concerns of her extensive fortune seemed to thrive 
under her management. In 1758, Colonel Washing- 
ton, then twenty-six years of age, became accidentally 
acquainted with the fair widow, and, after a brief 
courtship, they were married. This occurred in 1759, 
Soon after, they removed to Mount Vernon, which 
henceforward became their permanent residence. 

Mrs. Washington had no children by this second 
marriage. Martha and John Custis were, however, 
fully adopted into the affections of her present hus- 
band. In discharging her various domestic duties, 
and rearing her children, time flowed smoothly on 
for almost twenty years. In 1775, Washington, being 
appointed commander-in-chief of the American army, 
proceeded to Cambridge, and did not return to Mount 
Vernon till after the peace of 1783, except in a single 
instance. In December, she proceeded to Cambridge, 
and joined her husband. Here she remained till 
spring, having witnessed the siege and evacuation of 
Boston. She then returned to Virginia. 

During the war, it was the custom for the general 
to despatch an aid-de-camp to Mount Vernon, at the 
close of each campaign, to escort his wife to head- 
quarters. The arrival of Lady Washington, as she 
was now called, at the camp, was an event always 
anticipated with pleasure, and was the signal for the 
ladies of the general officers to join their husbands. 
The appearance of the aid-de-camp, escorting the 



MRS. WASHINGTON. 81 

plain family chariot, with the neat postilions in their 
scarlet and white liveries, was deemed an epoch in 
the army, and served to diffuse a cheering influence 
even amid the gloom which hung over our destinies, 
at Valley Forge, Morristown, and West Point. She 
always remained at head-quarters till the opening of 
the campaign, and she often remarked, in after life, 
that it had been her fortune to hear the first cannon 
at the opening, and the last at the closing, of the sev- 
eral campaigns of the war. 

During the whole period of the revolutionary 
struggle, she preserved her equanimity, together with 
a degree of cheerfulness which inspired all around her 
with the brightest hopes of final success. The glo- 
rious results of the campaign of 1781 were, however, 
associated with an event most afflictive to her. John 
Custis, now her only child, had accompanied Wash- 
ington to the siege of Boston, and had witnessed the 
most important events of the contest. At Yorktown, 
he was one of the aids of Washington, and lived to 
see the surrender of the British army on the 19th of 
October ; but he died soon after of camp fever, which 
was then raging to a frightful extent within the ene- 
my's mtrenchments. 

The war being closed, Washington returned to Mount 
Vernon. His time was now occupied in the peaceful 
pursuits of private life. He cultivated his lands, and 
improved his residence at Mount Vernon by additional 
buildings, and the laying out of his gardens and 
grounds. He occasionally diversified his employ- 
ments by the pleasures of the chase. Much of his 

F 



82 MRS. WASHINGTON. 

time, however, was occupied in discharging the grate- 
ful duties of hospitality. His fame was spread far and 
wide, and his home was crowded with guests, among 
whom were often seen illustrious strangers from 
foreign lands. During this happy period, Mrs. Wash- 
ington performed the duties of a Virginia housewife, 
and presided at her well-spread board, with an ease 
and elegance of manner suited to her character and 
station. 

The period at length arrived when Washington was 
again to leave his home, and enter upon public duties. 
Being elected president of the United States, he set 
out, in the spring of 1789, to join Congress at New 
York, then the seat of the general government. Ac- 
companied by his lady, he proceeded to that city, 
every where received by crowds of people, showering 
upon him their most grateful homage. At Trenton, 
New Jersey, he was received in a manner which is said 
to have affected him even to tears. In addition to the 
usual military compliments, the bridge over the creek 
running through the town was covered with a trium- 
phal arch, supported by thirteen pillars, entwined and 
ornamented with flowers and laurel, and bearing on 
the front, in large gilt letters, this inscription : — 

" THE DEFENDER OF THE MOTHERS 

WILL BE THE 

PROTECTOR OF THE DAUGHTERS." 

Here were assembled the mothers and daughters 
dressed in white, each bearing a basket of flowers, 



MRS. WASHINGTON. 83 

which were strewn before the chief, while they sang 
in chorus, 

" Welcome, mighty chief, once more, 

Welcome to this grateful shore ; 

Now no mercenary foe 

Aims again the fatal blow, 

Aims at thee the fatal blow. 

Virgins fair and matrons grave, 
Those thy conquering arms did save, 
Build for thee triumphal bowers ; 
Strew, ye fair, his way with flowers, 
Strew your hero's way with flowers." 9 

Arrived at New York, the president's establishment 
was formed upon a scale partaking at once of sim- 
plicity and dignity. " The house was handsomely 
furnished ; the equipages neat, with horses of the first 
order ; the servants wore the family liveries ; and, 
with the exception of a steward and housekeeper, the 
whole establishment differed very little from that of a 
private gentleman. On Tuesdays, from three to four 
o'clock, the president received the foreign ambassa- 
dors and strangers who wished to be introduced to 
him. On these occasions, and when opening the 
session of Congress, he wore a dress sword. His 
personal apparel was always remarkable for being 
old-fashioned, and exceedingly plain and neat. 

" On Thursdays were the congressional dinners, 
and on Friday night, Mrs. Washington's drawing- 
room. The company usually assembled about seven, 
and rarely staid exceeding ten o'clock. The ladies 
were seated, and the president passed round the circle. 



84 MRS. WASHINGTON. 

paying his compliments to each. At the drawing- 
rooms, Mrs. Morris always sat at the right of the lady 
president, and at all dinners, public or private, at 
which Robert Morris was a guest, that venerable man 
was placed at the right of Mrs. Washington. When 
ladies called at the president's mansion, the habit was 
for the secretaries and gentlemen of the president's 
household to hand them to and from their carriages ; 
but when the honored relicts of Greene and Mont- 
gomery came, the president himself performed these 
complimentary duties. 

. " On the great national festivals of the fourth of 
July and twenty-second of February, the sages of the 
revolutionary Congress and the officers of the revolu- 
tionary army renewed their acquaintance with Mrs. 
Washington. Many and kindly greetings took place, 
with many a recollection of the days of trial. The 
members of the Society of Cincinnatus, after paying 
their respects to the chief, were seen to file off towards 
the parlor, where Lady Washington was in waiting to 
receive them, and where Wayne, and Mifflin, and 
Dickenson, and Stewart, and Moylan, and Hartley, 
and a host of veterans, were cordially welcomed as 
old friends, and where many an interesting reminis- 
cence was called up, of the head-quarters and the 
4 times of the revolution.' 

" On Sundays, unless the weather was uncommonly 
severe, the president and Mrs. Washington attended 
divine service at Christ Church ; and in the evenings, 
the president read to Mrs. Washington, in her chamber, 
a sermon, or some portion of the sacred writings. No 
visitors, with the exception of Mr. Trumbull, of Con- 



MRS. WASHINGTON. 85 

necticut, — who was then speaker of the house, and 
afterwards governor of Connecticut, — were admitted 
on Sunday. 

" There was one description of visitors, however, to 
be found about the first president's mansion on all days. 
The old soldiers repaired, as they said, to head- 
quarters, just to inquire after the health of his excel- 
lency and Lady Washington. They knew his excel- 
lency was, of course, much engaged ; but they would 
like to see the good lady. One had been a soldier of 
the life-guard ; another had been on duty, when the 
British threatened to surprise the head-quarters ; a third 
had witnessed that terrible fellow, Cornwallis, surrender 
his sword ; each one had some touching appeal, with 
which to introduce himself at the peaceful head-quar- 
ters of the president. All were ' kindly bid to stay,' 
were conducted to the steward's apartments, and re- 
freshments set before them ; and, after receiving some 
little token from the lady, with her best wishes for the 
health and happiness of an old soldier, they went their 
ways, while blessings upon their revered commander 
and the good Lady Washington were uttered by many 
v a war-worn veteran of the revolution." * 

In the autumn of 1789, General Washington made a 
tour to the Eastern States. Soon after his return, Mrs. 
Washington addressed a letter to Mrs. Warren, of 
Boston, giving an account of her views and feelings at 
that period, which, as it is interesting for the informa- 
tion it contains, and alike creditable to the head and 
heart of the writer, we present to the reader. It is 
dated December 26th, 1789. 

* American Portrait Gallery. 



86 MRS. WASHINGTON. 

" Your very friendly letter of last month has afford- 
ed much more satisfaction than all the formal compli- 
ments and empty ceremonies of mere etiquette could 
possibly have done. I am not apt to forget the feelings 
which have been inspired by my former society with 
good acquaintances, nor to be insensible to their ex- 
pressions of gratitude to the president ; for you know 
me well enough to do me the justice to believe that I 
am fond only of what comes from the heart. Under a 
conviction that the demonstrations of respect and 
affection to him originate in that source, I cannot deny 
that I have taken some interest and pleasure in them. 
The difficulties which first presented themselves to 
view on his first entering upon the presidency, seem 
thus to be in some measure surmounted. It is owing 
to the kindness of our numerous friends in all quarters 
that my new and unwished-for situation is not indeed a 
burden to me. When I was much younger, I should 
probably have enjoyed the innocent gayeties of life as 
much as most persons of my age ; but I had long 
since placed all the prospects of my future happiness 
in the still enjoyments of the fireside at Mount Vernon. 

" I little thought, when the war was finished, that any 
circumstances could possibly happen, which would call 
the general into public life again. I had anticipated 
that, from that moment, we should be suffered to grow 
old together in solitude and tranquillity. That was the 
first and dearest wish of my heart. I will not, how- 
ever, contemplate with too much regret, disappoint- 
ments that were inevitable, though his feelings and 
my own were in perfect unison with respect to our 
predilection for private life. Yet I cannot blame him 



MRS. WASHINGTON. 87 

for having acted according to his ideas of duty in obey- 
ing the voice of his country. The consciousness of 
having attempted to do all the good in his power, and 
the pleasure of finding his fellow-citizens so well sat- 
isfied with the disinterestedness of his conduct, will, 
doubtless, be some compensation for the great sacrifices 
which I know he has made. Indeed, on his journey 
from Mount Vernon to this place, in his late tour through 
the Eastern States, by every public and every private 
information which has come to him, I am persuaded he 
has experienced nothing to make him repent his having 
acted from what he conceived to be a sense of indis- 
pensable duty. On the contrary, all his sensibility has 
been awakened in receiving such repeated and une- 
quivocal proofs of sincere regard from his coun- 
trymen. 

"With respect to myself, I sometimes think the 
arrangement is not quite as it ought to have been, — that 
I, who had much rather be at home, should occupy a 
place with which a great many younger and gayer 
women would be extremely pleased. As my grand- 
children and domestic connections make up a great 
portion of the felicity which I looked for in this world, 
I shall hardly be able to find any substitute that will 
indemnify me for the loss of a part of such endearing 
society. I do not say this because I feel dissatisfied 
with my present station; for every body and every 
thing conspire to make me as contented as possible in 
it ; yet I have learned too much of the vanity of human 
affairs to expect felicity from the scenes of public life. 
I am still determined to be cheerful and happy in what- 
ever situation I mav be ; for I have also learned from 



38 MRS. WASHINGTON. 

experience that the greater part of our happiness or 
misery depends on our dispositions, and not on our cir- 
cumstances. We carry the seeds of the one or the 
other about with us in our minds wherever we go. 

" I have two of my grandchildren with me, who 
enjoy advantages in point of education, and who, I 
trust, by the goodness of Providence, will be a great 
blessing to me. My other two grandchildren are with 
their mother in Virginia." 

In the spring of 1797, bidding adieu to public life, 
Washington took leave of the seat of government, and 
returned to Mount Vernon, prepared in good earnest to 
spend the remainder of his days in retirement. He 
accepted, indeed, the command of the army of the 
United States, soon after ; but this did not draw him 
from his home. In 1799, he died, after a brief illness. 
His affectionate partner was at the bedside when his 
spirit departed. " It is all over now," said she. " I 
shall soon follow him. 1 have no more trials to pass 
through." About two years after, she was seized with 
bilious fever. Being perfectly aware thac her end was 
at hand, she assembled her grandchildren at her bed- 
side, discoursed with them of their duties in life, of the 
happy influences of religion, of the consolations it had 
afforded her in hours of affliction, and the hopes it 
offered of a blessed immortality ; and then, surrounded 
by weeping relatives, friends, and domestics, the ven- 
erable relict of Washington resigned her life into the 
hands of her Creator, in the seventy-first year of 
her age. 

Few women have figured in the great drama of life, 
amid scenes so varied and imposing, with so few faults, 



MRS. WASHINGTON. 89 

and so many virtues, as Martha Washington. Iden- 
tified with the Father of his country in the great 
events which led to our national independence, she 
partook much of his thoughts, views, and counsels. In 
the dark hours of trial, her cheerfulness soothed his 
anxieties, and her devotional piety aided him in draw- 
ing hope and confidence from Heaven. She was 
indeed the fit partner of Washington, and, in her 
sphere, appears to have discharged her duties with a 
dignity, devotion, and consistency, worthy of her 
exalted destinies. 




8* 



MADAME DE STAEL. 



Jacques Necker, born of Protestant parents at 
Geneva, was sent, at the age of fifteen, to seek his 
fortune at Paris. After serving as a clerk in the bank- 
ing-house of Vernet, he passed into that of the eminent 
banker Thelusson, where he displayed such a capacity 
for business, as to lead to his admission into the house 
as a partner. In a few years he acquired a large for- 
tune, and withdrew from active business, but remained 
at Paris as minister of the republic of Geneva to the 
French court. His " Eloge de Colbert," which gained 
the prize in the French Academy in 1773, and his 
essay on the corn laws, first drew towards him the 
attention of the public, which finally settled upon him 
as the only person capable of preserving the country 
from that bankruptcy upon the verge of which it was 
standing ; and Louis XVI., notwithstanding his religious 
bigotry, was compelled to appoint Necker to the office 
of director-general of the finances, in 1785, being 
the first Protestant who had held office since the rev- 
ocation of the edict of Nantes. 

There resided with Madame Thelusson, as com- 
panion, a Swiss lady, named Curchod, the same who 
had the fortune to excite in the bosom of the historian 



MADAME DE STAEL. 91 

Gibbon, for the first and last time, the passion of love. 
There is, however, no undue praise in the following- 
description which he has given of her : " The personal 
attractions of Mdlle. Curchod were embellished by the 
virtues and talents of her mind. Her fortune was hum- 
ble, but her family was respectable. Her mother, a native 
of France, had preferred her religion to her country. 
Her father, with the moderation of a philosopher, was 
content with a small salary and laborious duty in the 
obscure lot of minister of Cressy, a small village in 
the mountains of Switzerland. He bestowed a liberal 
and even learned education on his only daughter. She 
surpassed his hopes by her proficiency in the sciences 
and languages ; and in her short visits to Lausanne, the 
wit, the beauty, and the learning, of Mademoiselle 
Curchod were the theme of universal applause. The 
report of such a prodigy awakened my curiosity ; I 
saw and loved. I found her learned without pedantry, 
witty in conversation, pure in sentiment, and elegant in 
manners." After the death of her father, she support- 
ed herself and her mother by teaching young ladies at 
Geneva ; from whence she removed to Paris. 

The character of Necker gained her admiration, her 
respect, and her love. She married him ; and, from 
that time, the great business of her life was to make 
him happy. To divert him after the cares of business, 
she sought to make her house agreeable. She had not 
the light and gay manners of a Parisian lady, but she 
had a native grace and sweetness, and a solidity of 
talent, which caused her society to be sought for by the 
learned and intelligent, and her drawing-rooms to be 
filled with the beaux esprit s of Paris. 



92 MADAME DE STAEL. 

Her only daughter, Anne Louisa Germaine, bora in 
1766, became her next object of solicitude. She 
wished that her education should be perfect; she 
wished her to know every thing, and thought that her 
mind could not be stored with too many words and 
facts ; she introduced her, even in infancy, to the bril- 
liant circle of her own friends, and learned men were 
almost her only companions. It was therefore with a 
transport of delight that the child received, at the age 
of eleven, a young girl, whom her mother wished her 
to make her companion, and who afterwards described 
her thus : " She spoke with a warmth and facility 
which were already eloquent, and which made a great 
impression on me. We did not play like children. 
She at once asked me what my lessons were, if I knew 
any foreign languages, and if I went often to the play. 
When I said, I had only been three or four times, she 
exclaimed, and promised that we should often go to- 
gether, and, when we came home, write down an ac- 
count of the piece. It was her habit, she said ; and, 
in short, we were to write to each other every day. 
We entered the drawing-room. Near the arm-chair 
of Madame Necker was the stool of her daughter, 
who was obliged to sit very upright. As soon as she 
had taken her accustomed place, three or four old 
gentlemen came up, and spoke to her with the utmost 
kindness. One of them, in a little round wig, took her 
hands in his, held them a long time, and entered into 
conversation with her, as if she had been twenty. This 
was the Abbe Raynal ; the others were Messrs. Mar- 
montel, Thomas, the Marquis de Pesay, and Baron de 
Grimm. We sat down at table. It was a picture to 



MADAME DE STAEL. 93 

see how Mademoiselle Necker listened. She did not 
speak herself; but so animated was her face, that she 
appeared to converse with all. Her eyes followed the 
looks and movements of those who talked ; it seemed 
as if she grasped their ideas before they were ex- 
pressed. She entered into every subject, even politics, 
which at this epoch was one of the most engrossing 
topics. After dinner, a good deal of company arrived. 
Each guest, as he. approached Madame Necker, ad- 
dressed her daughter with some compliment or pleas- 
antry ; she replied to all with ease and grace. They 
delighted to attack and embarrass her, and to excite 
her childish imagination, which was already brilliant. 
The cleverest men were those who took the greates\ 
pleasure in making her talk." When she was not in 
society, she was kept constantly at her books. She 
wrote a great deal, and her writings were read in pub- 
lic and applauded. This system of education had its 
natural results. Praise, and reputation, and success in 
society, became as necessaiy to her as her daily food : 
her understanding, brilliant, but not profound, gathered 
knowledge by cursory reading and from conversation — 
not by hard study ; hence it was superficial. 

Her physical strength could not endure this constant 
straining and excitement of the mind. At fourteen, 
her physicians ordered that she should be removed to 
the country, and should give up all study. Madame 
Necker was deeply disappointed : unable to carry her 
system of education to the fullest extent, she aban- 
doned it altogether ; henceforth she took little interest 
in the talents of her daughter, and, when she heard her 
praised, would say, " 0, it is nothing, absolutely nothing, 



1)4 MADAME DE STAEL. 

in comparison to what I intended to make her." This 
carelessness on the part of her mother, developed in 
the young girl an ardent affection for her father, 
which she dwells upon in her writings with so much 
fervor. There existed between them the most unre- 
served and open communication of thought. He de- 
lighted in her talents, which she exerted for his enter- 
tainment, and to amuse his hours of leisure. Her 
superior success in this last particular even excited 
the jealousy of her mother, who sought by reproof to 
check the outpouring of her wit and imagination. 
Mademoiselle listened with respect to the reproof, but 
took the first opportunity to escape from her mother's 
side, and shelter herself behind her father's chair, 
where she soon collected the cleverest men in the room 
to listen to her sallies, and to be charmed by her 
eloquence. 

As has already been said, her career of authorship 
began at a very early age. When a little older, she 
composed tales and plays, which were received with 
rapturous applause by the company to which, in ac- 
cordance with French custom, they were read ; but 
which in print appear flat enough. At the age of 
fifteen, she made her appearance before the great 
public as the author of an anonymous political 
pamphlet in defence of an act of her father's, which 
had excited a great clamor on the part of the ultra-roy- 
alists, and was the cause of his resignation of office. 

The position which her father held in France, during 
her early years, exercised a very important influence 
on the character and feelings of Mademoiselle Necker. 
Despised as a plebeian and detested as a reformer by 



MADAME D£ STAEL. 95 

the queen and the court, he was regarded, by the 
moderate of all parties, as the only man who could 
save France, and was worshipped as an idol by the 
people at large. No sooner was it known that he had 
resigned, than " all France," as she says, — that is, 
all who were eminent for wealth, for talent, or for 
rank, excepting the few attached to the court, — came 
to visit him, and to express to him their regrets, 
their fears, and the hope that he would soon return to 
office. She heard that consternation pervaded Paris ; 
all fearing ruin for that country which Necker had 
abandoned. It is not surprising that she should con- 
ceive for him a passionate admiration ; should regard 
him as superior to all in modern times, and as answer- 
ing the beau ideal of Grecian or of Roman patriotism. 
Nor is it wonderful that his persecution by the court 
should have excited feelings of resentment and disgust 
towards a form of government under which such 
things could take place. 

Necker remained a short time in France, and then 
returned to Coppet, an estate which he purchased on 
the banks of the Lake of Geneva, from whence he 
watched the course of events, feeling certain that he 
should at last be recalled to the helm. An occasional 
visit to Paris, or the publication of a political pam- 
phlet, served to keep him in the public remembrance. 

At the age of twenty-two, Mademoiselle Necker was 
married. To her, marriage was merely a convenience. 
It was necessary to give her a position in society — 
admittance at court. She did not look for a lover, not 
even for a friend or companion, in her husband. He 
must be of noble birth, and a Protestant. * The Baron 



B6 MADAME DE STAEL. 

de Stael, the Swedish ambassador, had both these 
requisites ; he was, moreover, an amiable and honor- 
able man. He had received positive assurances from 
his sovereign, that he should be continued for many 
years at the court of France, and she, having made a 
distinct contract that she should never be obliged to go 
to Sweden, except with her own consent, accepted his 
proposals of marriage. 

We have a portrait of her as she appeared at this 
period, written in a style then much in fashion: 
" Zalma advances ; her large dark eyes sparkle with 
genius ; her hair, black as ebony, falls on her shoul- 
ders in waving ringlets ; her features are more marked 
than delicate, yet they express something superior to 
her sex. ' There she is ! ' every one cried, when she 
appeared, and all became breathless. When she 
sang, she extemporized the words of her song; the 
celestial brightness of composition animated her face, 
and held the audience in serious attention ; at once 
astonished and delighted, we know not which most to 
admire, her facility or perfection. When her music 
ceased, she talked of the great truths of nature, the 
immortality of the soul, the love of liberty, of the 
fascination and danger of the passions : her features 
meanwhile have an expression superior to beauty ; her 
physiognomy is full of play and variety ; the accents 
of her voice have a thousand modulations ; and there is 
perfect harmony between her thoughts and their ex- 
pression. Without hearing her words, the inflection 
of her tones, her gestures, her look, cause her mean- 
ing to be understood. When she ceased, a murmur 
of approbation ran round the room ; she looked down 



MADAME DE STAEL. 97 

modestly ; her long eyelashes covered her flashing 
eyes, and the sun was clouded over." 

Meantime affairs in France were rapidly approaching 
to a" crisis. Minister succeeded minister, but each 
left the ship more inextricably involved than his pred- 
ecessor. The failure of the crops, and consequent 
distress of the poorer classes, increased the turbulence 
of the people and the distress of the court. At length, 
in 1788, seven years after his resignation, the queen 
and the court were compelled to confess that the only 
hope of safety was in recalling Necker, and to join in 
the general solicitation that he would take the helm. 

His name revived the public credit; the pressing 
wants of the treasury were supplied; by importing 
grain, he removed the fears of famine. His position 
at this period was one to gratify his highest ambition ; 
his return had been a triumph over the court ; and the 
people were eager to prostrate themselves at his feet. 
But his talents were those of the financier only ; as a 
statesman, he was sadly wanting. The example of 
the Americans had excited in the minds of a portion 
of the nobility an indefinable and romantic longing 
for something called liberty ; the middle classes, who 
possessed the most intelligence, education, and wealth, 
were indignant at being excluded from most places of 
honor, and at being obliged to bear the whole burden 
of the taxes, from which the nobles and the clergy 
were exempt ; the great body of the people, who were 
in the condition of slaves, had the wrongs and out- 
rages of many centuries of oppression to avenge : all 
these classes, though agreeing in nothing else, were 
united in demanding a change, On the other side. 

G VI.— 9 



98 MADAME Viu STAEL. 

the queen, supported by her royal brothers-in-law and 
a portion of the nobles, resolutely set themselves 
against any innovations. 

Necker did not agree entirely with either party ; he 
was in favor of a limited monarchy ; the British con- 
stitution appeared to him, as it did to his daughter, 
the perfection of government. But he had not the 
decision and energy requisite for insuring the success 
of his own opinions. The well-disposed but weak 
monarch yielded to the more daring counsels of the 
court, and prepared to crush at once their opponents 
by force. But these measures were concerted without 
the knowledge of Necker, and before they could be 
executed, he must quietly be got rid of. Accordingly, 
on the 11th of July, 1789, as he was about to sit down 
to dinner, he received an order to quit France within 
four and twenty hours, and without exciting observa- 
tion. Necker obeyed to the very letter. He and his 
wife, without changing their dress, stepped into the 
carriage, as if to take the usual evening airing, and 
travelled night and day till they reached Brussels. 

Madame de Stael was informed of this event on the 
morning of the 12th, and on the 15th, having been 
advised of their route, she set off to join her parents. 
" When I reached them," says she, " three days after, 
they still wore the full dress which they had on, when, 
after a large dinner party, and while no one suspected 
the agitating position in which they were placed, they 
silently quitted France, their friends, their home, and 
the power which they enjoyed. This dress, covered 
with dust, the name assumed by my father for the 
sake of avoiding recognition in France, and so deten- 



Madame de stael. 99 

tion through the favor in which he was still held,— - 
all these filled me with feelings of reverence, that 
caused me to throw myself at his feet, as I entered 
the room of the inn where I found him." 

While thus exhibiting his respect for the king, 
Necker, by another act, displayed his love for the 
people. To purchase a supply of corn for the starv- 
ing population of Paris, Necker had negotiated a loan 
of two millions of livres, for which his own personal 
security was to be given. The transaction was not 
completed at the period of his exile, and, lest this 
should occasion any delay, he wrote at once to con- 
firm his guaranty. 

No sooner was Necker's dismissal known, than Paris 
rose in insurrection. An army of one hundred thou- 
sand men was arrayed in a night ; on the 14th of July, 
the Bastile was destroyed, and the king was forced to 
attend in person at the Hotel de Ville, and to express 
his approbation of the acts of the revolutionists. A 
courier, bearing an order of recall, overtook Necker at 
Frankfort. He hesitated, but at last determined to 
comply. " What a moment of happiness," says 
Madame de Stael, " was our journey to Paris ! I do 
not think that the like ever happened to any man who 
was not sovereign of the country. * * * The live- 
liest acclamations accompanied every step ; the 
women threw themselves on their knees afar off in 
the fields when they saw his carriage pass ; the first 
citizens of the different places acted as postilions; 
and, in the towns, the inhabitants took off the horses 
to drag the carriage themselves. It was I that en» 



100 MADAME DE STAEL, 

joyed for him ; I was carried away by delight, arid 
must not feel ungrateful for those happy days, how- 
ever sad were the ones that followed." " O, nothing 
can equal the emotion that a woman feels when she 
has the happiness of hearing the name of one beloved 
repeated by a whole people. All those faces, which 
appear for the time animated by the same sentiment 
as one's self; those innumerable voices, which echo 
to the heart the name that rises in the air, and which 
appear to return from heaven after having received 
the homage of earth ; the inconceivable electricity 
which men communicate to each other when they 
share the same emotions ; all those mysteries of nature 
and social feeling are added to the greatest mystery 
of all — love — filial or maternal — but still love ; and 
the soul sinks under emotions stronger than itself. 
When I came to myself, I felt that I had reached the 
extreme boundary of happiness." 

The triumph was of short duration: striving to act 
a middle part, Necker incurred the distrust of both 
parties. His want of capacity, also, to rule the tem- 
pest, was most evident; his propositions were weak 
and inconsistent ; but his daughter saw not this : the 
loss of the confidence of the king and of the favor of 
the people, was attributed by her to their ingratitude 
and perversity ; in her eyes, her father was still the 
greatest of men. His resignation and departure from 
France was to her a subject of mortification, however. 
As he passed on his way to Switzerland, the same 
people who, the year before, had swelled the acclama- 
tions of triumph and joy, now met him with reproaches 



MADAME BE STAEL. 10 1 

and revilings. At one place he was detained as a 
prisoner, and only released in pursuance of a decree 
of the National Assembly. 

His daughter remained at Paris. Although excluded 
theoretically from the exercise of any political power, 
there is no country where the women take so active a 
part in politics as in France. Madame de Stael was 
not a woman to forego the exercise of rights which 
custom had given her sex : accordingly we find her 
deeply involved in all the political intrigues of the 
day, and her drawing-room the scene of the most im- 
portant political discussions. 

During the dreadful days of August, 1792, she 
exerted herself to the utmost to save the lives of her 
friends; fearlessly traversing the streets filled with the 
lowest wretches of both sexes ; visiting the victims in 
the obscure houses in which they were concealed, and 
taking them into her own house, which, from the pro- 
tection which the law of nations throws over an am- 
bassador, she trusted would be to them a sanctuary. 
But those now in power heeded little the law of na- 
tions : the police demanded to search her house ; 
she met them at the door, talked to them of the rights 
of ambassadors, and of the vengeance which Sweden 
would take if they persisted in their demand ; she 
rallied them upon their want of courtesy, and finally, 
by argument and gayety, induced them to abandon 
their intention. 

Although it was apparent that her personal safety 

was endangered, she could not bear to leave Paris, the 

theatre in which so exciting a drama was being acted. 

With her passports ready, she yet lingered until the 

9* 



102 MADAME DE STAEL, 

2d of September, when the news of the advance of 
the foreign troops into France excited the Parisians to 
madness, and led to the commission of those horrible ex- 
cesses which have left an indelible stain on the French 
name. She then set out for Switzerland ; but even now 
her love of effect and of display was exhibited. She 
left her house in a coach drawn by six horses, with the 
servants in full livery, trusting for safety to her title as 
wife of an ambassador. But she had hardly left her 
own door, when the carriage was surrounded by a 
host of furious women, who compelled the postilions 
to drive to the office of the section of the city to which 
she belonged, from whence she was ordered to the 
Hotel de Ville. This was at the opposite side of the 
city, and she was three hours in making her way 
thither through crowds of ferocious wretches thirsting 
for her blood. She was detained at the Hotel de 
Ville during the remainder of the day, and in the 
evening was conducted by Manuel to his own house. 
On the next day, she was suffered to leave the city 
attended by her maid alone, and accompanied by a 
gendarme. 

At Coppet she found personal safety ; but not even 
the society of her father could render its quiet agree- 
able to her. Her activity found some exercise for 
itself in affording protection to those who were so 
fortunate as to escape from the fangs of the Revolu- 
tionary Tribunal. She also wrote an eloquent appeal 
in behalf of the queen, and " Reflections on the Peace," 
which was quoted by Fox, as full of sound political 
yiews and just argument. 

No sooner had the fall of Robespierre rendered 



MADAME DE STAEL, 103 

Paris a comparatively safe place of residence, than 
she hastened thither, eager to bear a part in the busy- 
scenes which were taking place. Her return formed 
an epoch in society ; it was the signal of the revival 
of refinement. She became the centre of a brilliant 
circle, composed of the most distinguished foreigners, 
and of the most eminent men of France. In the society 
of women she took no pleasure ; she loved to be sur- 
rounded by those who could appreciate her talents, and 
could discuss those questions which are foreign to the 
general tastes of women. But it could hardly be 
called discussion: her own opinions were delivered 
like oracles, and if she ever asked a question, it was 
in such an indeterminate way that no one felt called 
upon to reply. In this connection one little peculiarity 
may be mentioned : in public she always held in her 
hand, which, by the by, was well-formed, some play- 
thing, which she twirled between her ringers ; in 
summer, it was a twig of poplar with two or three 
leaves at the end ; in winter, it was a rolled paper ; and 
it was usual, on her entrance at a party, to present a 
number of these, from which she made a selection. 

The influence which^she had acquired excited the 
alarm of the revolutionists ; she was denounced in the 
Convention and attacked in the newspapers. But this 
moved her not, so long as by her eloquence she could 
make converts to her own opinions — opinions adopted 
hastily, and without reflection, which were, therefore, 
often changing, and frequently contradictory. 

At length Bonaparte appeared upon the stage ; and 
at their first interview, Madame de Stael felt that he 
was a man not to be dazzled or won. He had just 



104 MADAME DE STAEL. 

returned from the conquest of Italy. She thus speaks 
of the impression he made on her : " I could not reply 
to him, when he told me that he had visited Coppet, 
and felt much regret at passing through Switzerland 
without seeing my father. To a feeling of admiration 
succeeded one of fear — a feeling that was experienced 
by all who approached him, and which resulted solely 
from his personal attributes ; for at this time he held no 
political power, but had himself fallen under the sus- 
picions of the Directory. I soon learned that his char- 
acter was not to be denned by the words in ordinary 
use ; that he was neither gentle nor violent, mild nor 
cruel, according to the fashion of other men. The 
feeling of fear was only increased by subsequent inter- 
course with him. I had a confused feeling that no 
emotion of the heart ever influenced him." 

In all that Madame de Stael says of Napoleon, there 
is an evident feeling of pique, and. of mortified vanity. 
Hitherto triumphant in society, she now met with one 
upon whom all her powers were tried in vain. An 
opportunity of testing this occurred at an early period. 
Bonaparte proposed to the Directory the invasion of 
Switzerland ; upon which she sought a conference with 
him, in the hope of turning him. from his purpose. He 
viewed the interference as impertinent, and the matter 
entirely out of a woman's province : from deference to 
her reputation, however, he entered into a discussion 
of the matter, and, having said as much as he thought 
ought to convince her, turned the conversation to other 
subjects, much to Madame de StaePs mortification, who 
could not bear to be treated like a mere woman. 

When Bonaparte became first consul, Madame de 



MADAME DE STAEL, 105 

Stael did not hesitate to express openly her dissatisfac- 
tion at his rising power. Joseph Bonaparte, of whom 
she was fond, remonstrated with her. " My brother," 
said he, " complains of you. 4 Why,' said he, yester- 
day, ' does not Madame de Stael attach herself to my 
government ? What does she want ? The payment 
of the money due her father ? She shall have it. To 
remain in Paris ? I will permit it. In short, what 
does she want ? ' " " The question is not what I 
want," replied Madame de Stael, " but what I think." 

There was one thing which operated as a check on 
her, and that was, the fear^ of being obliged to leave 
Paris. The possibility of such a catastrophe filled her 
with wretchedness. Away from the society and the 
excitements of that capital, she was the victim of 
ennui : her own brilliant powers of mind furnished her 
with no protection ; she had no internal resources for 
happiness. Hear her own confession : " In this point 
was I vulnerable. The phantom of ennui forever 
pursues me ; fear of it would have made me bow 
before tyranny, if the example of my father, and the 
blood which flowed in my veins, had not raised me 
above such weakness." 

The " dispensation of ennui " she viewed as the 
most terrible exercise of Bonaparte's power. But even 
her fear of it would not control the ruling passion : she 
continued to discourse on politics, though to a con- 
stantly diminishing audience, and to excite those with 
whom she possessed influence to oppose the measures 
of government, until the forbearance of that govern- 
ment was exhausted, and she received advice from the 
minister of police to retire for a short time into the 



108 MADAME DE STaEL, 

country. This she terms the commencement of a se- 
ries of persecutions by Bonaparte — a reproach which 
is not deserved ; for it could not be expected that any 
government, much less one whose power was not yet 
established, would submit to a constant opposition, 
which exhibited itself not only in epigrams, always a 
most powerful weapon in France, but, as she herself 
confesses, in direct political intrigues ; the interference, 
too, being by one who had small claims to be called a 
Frenchwoman. She was the daughter of a Swiss, and 
the wife of a Swede, of which latter character she 
more than once made use to secure her own per= 
sonal safety and that of her friends. What course 
could the government have adopted of a milder char- 
acter ? There was no personal violence, nor threat of 
any : she was banished from the theatre of her hos- 
tile influence, and forbidden to circulate her works 
there. 

Not long after the banishment of Madame de Staei 
from Paris, Bonaparte passed through Switzerland, on 
his way to Italy. Having expressed a wish to see 
Necker, the latter waited on him. After a two hours' 
conversation, the aged minister left Napoleon, fascinated, 
like all who approached him, by his powers of pleasing, 
and gratified, as well by this mark of respect, as by 
the permission which he obtained for his daughter to 
reside at Paris. 

The publication of her work on " Literature " re- 
stored Madame de Stael to popularity. Her salons 
were again crowded, but chiefly with foreigners, for 
she still remained upon bad terms with the first consul 
" She pretends," said he, " to speak neither of politics 



MADAME DE STAEL. 107 

nor of me ; yet it happens that every one leaves her 
house less attached to me than when they went in. 
She gives them fanciful notions, and of the opposite 
kind to mine." Wounded vanity had no doubt a large 
share in producing her state of feeling. Upon him, 
as we have before seen, all her powers of fascination 
were exerted in vain. Indeed, he seems, in his treat- 
ment of her, to have been wanting in his usual tact. 
She was one day asked to dine in company with him. 
As she had heard that he sometimes spoke sarcasti- 
cally of her, she thought he might perhaps address to 
her some of these speeches, which were the terror of 
the courtiers. She prepared herself, therefore, with 
various repartees. But Bonaparte hardly appeared 
conscious of her presence, and her consolation for 
the neglect was the conjecture that fear had been the 
cause of his forbearance. 

The early attempts of Madame de Stael in novel- 
writing gave no promise of superiority in that depart- 
ment of literature. Four tales, published in 1795, were 
as weak in plan and in execution as they were deficient 
in moral taste. It is a sad illustration of the state of 
moral feeling in the community, that a mind, naturally 
so well-intentioned and powerful, could be so debased, 
especially of one who had, at all times, a deep sense of 
religion, and who had been educated in the strict prin- 
ciples of Calvin. "Delphine," which appeared in 1 
1802, is marked by the same faults of a moral char- 
acter, and its tendency was so marked, as to incur 
the censure even of French critics, " who dared," as 
Madame de Stael indignantly exclaims, " to blame a 
book approved by Necker." That the censure was 



108 MADAME DE STAEL. 

merited, no right-minded person can deny. The de- 
fence which Madame de Stael felt called upon to put 
forth is weak, inconclusive, and abounding in soph- 
istries. The misfortunes of the heroine are, indeed, 
the consequences of her actions, but these results are 
made to appear her misfortune, and not her fault. Fas- 
cinated by the eloquence of the author, our hearts are 
enlisted on the side of the sufferer, whatever may be 
the decision of our judgment. 

Though deficient in some of the requisites for a nov- 
elist, especially in dramatic talent, Madame de Stael 
was eminently endowed with one essential faculty — 
that of delineating character. In Delphine, it was said 
the character of the author herself was exhibited, and 
that Madame de Vernon, in whom we have a perfect 
picture of social Machiavelism, was drawn from Talley- 
rand. " I am told," said he to her, " that you have put 
us both in your novel in the character of women." 
Even if this had been the occasion of offence to the 
wily courtier, he was too sagacious to disclose it. 

Madame de Stael was at Coppet, passing the sum- 
mer, when her father published a work called " Last 
View of Politics and Finance." In this he points out the 
progress which Bonaparte was making towards despotic 
power. Irritated at this attack, the first consul for- 
bade the return of the daughter to Paris, from whence 
she had conveyed such false impressions to her father. 

But, much as she loved her father, she could not 
content herself away from Paris. Genevese society 
contrasted sadly, in her estimation, with the brilliant 
circle of her Parisian friends. Hoping, amidst the ex- 
citements which attend the commencement of a war, 



MADAME DE STAEL. 109 

to be overlooked, she ventured, after the rupture of the 
peace of Amiens, to establish herself at the distance 
of thirty miles from her beloved capital. The first 
consul was informed that the road to her residence was 
crowded with her visitants. She heard that she was to 
receive an order to depart, and she sought to evade it 
by wandering from the house of one friend to that of 
another. It was at length received, and the intercession 
of Joseph Bonaparte, and other friends of the first con- 
sul, was of no avail. 

Loath to appear in disgrace among the Genevese, 
and hoping, amid new scenes, to forget her griefs, 
she resolved to visit Germany. " Every step of the 
horses," she tells us, as she left Paris, " was a pang £ 
and, when the postilions boasted that they had driven 
fast, I could not help smiling at the sad service they 
did me." 

The enjoyment which she derived from the atten- 
tion and kindness with which she was every where 
received, and from the vast field of knowledge which 
opened itself to her, was interrupted by the sad news 
of the illness of her father, followed quickly by intel- 
ligence of his death. She at once set off for Coppet. 
Her feelings, during the melancholy journey, are beau- 
tifully and naturally recorded in the " Ten Years of 
Exile." This work, which was not published until 
after her death, is the most interesting of her writings, 
and the best as it respects style. It was commenced 
at Coppet, and feigned names and false dates were 
substituted for the real, for the purpose of misleading 
the government, whose perfect system of espionage 



110 MADAME DE STAEL. 

would otherwise have rendered fruitless her most 
careful endeavors at concealment. 

Her fears for the consequences of a discovery were 
natural ; for she expresses most freely her opinions of 
the character and conduct of the great ruler of France, 
which take their coloring from her feelings, highly ex- 
cited by the persecution of which she conceived herself 
to be the victim. Here are also recorded her obser- 
vations on the various countries which this persecu- 
tion compelled her to visit. But the work is far more 
valuable and interesting from the traits which it uncon- 
sciously discloses of the character of the author her- 
self; and any diminution of our preconceived ideas of 
the absolute dignity of her nature, is more than com- 
pensated by the abundant proofs of the kindness and 
honesty of her disposition. 

Her first occupation, after the death of her father, 
was to publish his writings, accompanied by a bio- 
graphical memoir. Her passion for him took a new 
turn. Every old man recalled his image ; and she 
watched over their comforts, and wept over their 
sufferings. It mingled with her devotions. She be- 
lieved that her soul communed with his in prayer, and 
that it was to his intercession that she owed all the 
good that befell her. Whenever she met with any 
piece of good fortune, she would say, " It is my father 
who has obtained this for me." 

In happier days, this passion sometimes was the 
occasion of scenes not a little amusing to the bystand- 
ers. Her cousin and biographer, Madame de Necker 
Saussure relates the following anecdote : She had 



MADAME DE STAEL. 111 

come to Coppet from Geneva in Necker's carnage, 
and had been overturned on the way, but received no 
injury. On relating the incident to Madame de Stael, 
she inquired, with great vehemence, who had driven ; 
and, on being told that it was Bichel, her father's 
coachman, she exclaimed, in an agony, " Mon Dieu ! 
he may one day overturn my father ! " and ordered him 
into her presence. While waiting his coming, she 
paced the room, crying out, " My father, my poor 
father, he might have been overturned ; " and, turning 
to her cousin, " At your age, and with your slight 
person, the danger is nothing ; but with his bulk and 
age — I cannot bear to think of it ! " The coachman 
now came in ; and the lady, usually so mild and in- 
dulgent with her servants, in a sort of frenzy, and in 
a voice of solemnity, but choked with emotion, said, 
" Richel, do you know that I am a woman of genius ? " 
The poor man stared at her in astonishment, and 
she went on, yet louder, " Have you not heard, I say, 
that I am a woman of genius ? " The man was still 
mute. " Well, then, I tell you that I am a. woman of 
genius — of great genius — of prodigious genius ! and 
I tell you more — that all the genius I have shall be 
exerted to secure your rotting out your days in a dun- 
geon, if ever you overturn my father ! " 

To recruit her health, which was wasting with grief, 
she next undertook a journey into Italy. Hitherto 
she had appeared totally insensible to the beauties of 
nature, and when her guests at Coppet were in ec- 
stasies with the Lake of Geneva, and the enchanting 
scenery about it, she would exclaim, "Give me a 
garret in Paris, with a hundred Louis a year." But 



112 MADAME DE STAEL, 

in Italy she seems to have had a glimpse of the glories 
of the universe, for which enjoyment she always said 
she was indebted to her father's intercession. 

The delights which she experienced in that enchant- 
ing country are imbodied in the novel of " Corinne." 
Her representation of its society evinces a want of in- 
timate acquaintance with it, but it is a lively and true 
picture of the surface. In this work her peculiar talent 
as a novelist is richly displayed. In the characters of 
Comte d'Erfeuil, Corinne, and Oswald, we have not 
only examples of the most true and delicate discrim- 
ination, but vivid portraits of individuals, in whom 
are imbodied the most pleasing peculiarities of their 
respective nations. A purer morality displays itself 
in Corinne ; the result, rather than the object, of the 
book. She does not seek, by logical demonstration, to 
enforce a moral axiom, but the influence of the spirit 
which emanates from the whole is purifying and ele- 
vating. 

Madame de Stael was forbidden to approach within 
forty leagues of Paris ; but, after hovering about the 
confines of the magical circle, she at last established 
herself within it, at a distance of only twelve leagues 
from the city. So long as she was contented to remain 
in obscurity, in the society of a small circle of friends, 
and to maintain a strict silence on the subject of pol- 
itics, her violation of the imperial mandate was over- 
looked. But the publication of Corinne put an end to 
the indulgence, and she was ordered to quit France. 

The tedium of her life at Coppet was somewhat 
relieved by the visits of her friends, and of distin- 
guished foreigners. She was occupied, too, by her 



MADAME DE STAEL. 113 

work on Germany, which was completed in 1810. 
To superintend its publication, she took up her abode 
at the permitted distance from Paris, at the old chateau 
of Chaumont-sur-Loire, already notable as the resi- 
dence of Diane de Poitiers, Catherine de Medicis, and 
Nostradamus. 

She submitted her book to the censor, and expunged 
such passages as were objected to. She now deemed 
herself safe in publishing it. Ten thousand copies 
were already printed, when an order was issued by 
Savary, minister of police, for the suppression of the 
work. The impressions were seized, and, the ink 
being obliterated by a chemical process, the paper 
was returned to the publisher. The manuscript was 
demanded, and the author ordered to quit France in 
twenty-four hours ; but, upon her remonstrance, the 
time was extended to eight days. " Your exile," 
says Savary, " is the natural consequence of the 
course of conduct you have constantly pursued for 
many years. It is evident that the air of France does 
not agree with you." The true reasons for the sup- 
pression of her work were not assigned, but were 
turned off with the remark that " It is not French ; 
and that the French are not yet reduced to seek for 
models in the countries which she admired." 

In 1810, M. de Rocca, a French officer, who was 
yet suffering from dangerous wounds, received in 
Spain, arrived at Geneva. His personal condition 
and his reputation for brilliant courage heightened 
the interest excited by his youth and noble physiog- 
nomy. He first saw Madame de Stael at a public 
assembly. She entered the ball-room, dressed in a 
H 10* 



114 MADAME DE STAEL. 

costly but unbecoming style, and followed by a train 
of admirers. " Is this the far-famed woman ? " said 
Rocca ; " she is very ugly, and I detest such straining 
for effect." A few words of sympathy, set off by the 
music of her voice, effected a complete revolution in 
his feelings. Wishes and hopes apparently the most 
extravagant took possession of his heart — for she 
was now a widow. " I will love her so much that 
she will marry me," said he, and his words were soon 
fulfilled ; but the event was carefully concealed until 
the death of Madame de Stael ; for she was peculiarly 
sensitive to public opinion, and refused to acknowledge 
a marriage which might have excited ridicule — so 
great was the disparity of age and of condition be- 
tween the parties. She was unwilling likewise to 
change her name. " Mon nom est a l'Europe," said 
she to M. Rocca, when, on a subsequent occasion, he 
jestingly asked her to marry him. 

For this marriage, as well as for her former one, 
Madame de Stael has been severely censured. Many 
apologies, if any be really necessary, may be found 
for her. Since the death of her father, she had felt, 
more than before, the want of an essential accessory 
to her happiness. Speaking of the asylum which she 
hoped to find in England, she said, " I feel the want 
of love, of cherishing, of some one to lean upon ; if I 
can rind in that country a man possessing real noble- 
ness of character, I will gladly yield up my liberty." 
Heartbroken and disappointed, both as a woman and 
an author, she had returned to Coppet, to find her 
residence there more irksome and unhappy than ever. 
She was advised not to go farther than ten leagues 



MADAME DE STAEL. 115 

from home : and fear lest she should involve her 
friends, induced her to forbid their coming to her. 
Her fears were not altogether without reason. Re- 
gardless of the advice she had received, she made the 
tour of Switzerland with M. de Montmorency, and the 
consequence to him was exile from France. Another 
friend, the beautiful and celebrated Madame de Re- 
camier, paid for a few hours' intercourse by exile to 
Lyons. 

Imagination conjured up new terrors. The fear of 
imprisonment seized her, and she resolved to escape. 
The choice of a route perplexed her. She passed her 
life, she says, in studying the map of Europe, to find 
how she could escape beyond the wide-spread poison- 
tree of Napoleon's power. She at length departed. 
England was the point of destination. 

Passing through Germany, she was received at St. 
Petersburg with great distinction by the emperor, and, 
thence passing on her way, spent eight months at 
Stockholm with her old friend Bernadotte, crown 
prince of Sweden ; with whom at Paris, in the early 
days of Bonaparte's career, she had been discovered 
concerting measures to stop his progress towards abso- 
lute power — a discovery which furnished an apology 
for the treatment she received. 

The " Ten Years of Exile," which, after an inter- 
mission of several years, had been resumed, closes at 
Stockholm. In England, she met with a most cordial 
reception. Fashionable society courted her as a lion ; 
the more intelligent and highly educated sought her for 
her genius. 

Her work on Germany was published in London, and 



116 MADAME BE STAEL. 

raised her reputation as a critic to the highest point. 
She was among the founders of the philosophical 
school of critics ; who, not wasting their attention on 
the conventional forms of composition, look to the in- 
trinsic qualities which constitute literary excellence. 
But she was not sufficiently dispassionate always to 
form a correct judgment. Her enthusiasm and sus- 
ceptibility made her too indulgent. As she would 
often be thrown into ecstasies by a wretched hand- 
organ in the street, so she would be in raptures with 
verses, the melody of which pleased her ear. She 
would repeat them with great pomp and emphasis, 
and say, " That is what I call poetry ! it is delicious ! 
and all the more that it does not convey a single idea 
to me." 

" Germany " was a gift of the greatest price to 
France. Her standards in literature had been fixed 
a century before, and to alter or advance them was 
deemed a work of impiety. A natural result was a 
v/ant of vigor and of originality. She had imposed 
her fetters, too, on foreign nations. The cold, artificial 
spirit of the age of Louis XIV. long pressed, like an 
incubus, upon the literary spirit of Germany. But 
about the middle of the last century, the spell was 
broken. A literary revolution took place in that coun- 
try, and, from being destitute of all national literature, 
Germany became possessed of one the most charac- 
teristic. To furnish a literary and mental portraiture 
of this emancipated nation, was a work requiring a 
rare combination of talents, and one which was exe- 
cuted by Madame de Stael with singular ability. 

She hailed with delight the overthrow of Napoleon, 



MADAME DE STAEL. 117 

which opened to her the way to Paris. But she never 
joined in the senseless cry which was raised, that he had 
neither talents nor courage. " It would be too humil- 
iating for France, and for all Europe," she said, " that, 
for fifteen years, it had been beaten and outwitted by a 
coward and a blockhead." Her joy was, however, 
tempered by grief and indignation, that the soil of 
France, "cette belle France," should be desecrated 
by the feet of foreign invaders. To avoid witness- 
ing the humiliating spectacle of Paris in the pos- 
session of barbarians, she retired to Coppet, where, 
in 1816, she renewed her acquaintance with Lord 
Byron, whose genius fascinated her, and who had been 
chief favorite while she was in England. She now 
gave him much advice as to his conduct, which he 
met by quoting the motto to " Delphine," — "Man 
must learn to brave opinion, — woman to submit to it." 
But she no longer defended the truth of this epigraph. 
Always religious, the principles of Christianity now 
mingled more intimately in her sentiments. 

Time, too, had wrought a change in her character : 
she was much softened, and appreciated more justly 
the real blessings and misfortunes of life. In her own 
family she found sources of happiness. Her children 
were dutiful and affectionate, and the marriage of her 
daughter to the Duke de Broglie gave her pleasure. 
Her chief cause of disquietude was the ill health of her 
husband, in anticipation of whose death she composed a 
book, with the title, " The only Misfortune of Life, the 
Loss of a Person beloved." But she was not destined to 
be the sufferer now. She had ever despised the accom- 
modation of the body, and gave herself no trouble about 



118 MADAME DE STAEL. 

health. She affected to triumph over infirmity, and 
was wont to say, " I might have been sickly, like any 
body else, had I not resolved to vanquish physical 
weakness." But nature was not to be thus defied. 
Her health failed, and the use of opium aided the 
progress of disease. But sickness threw no cloud over 
her intellect ; " I am now," she said, " what I have ever 
been — sad, yet vivacious ; " but it displayed the moral 
beauties of her character in a more striking light. She 
was kind, patient, and devout. Her sleepless nights 
were spent in prayer. Existence no longer appeared 
to her in its gayest colors. " Life," she said, " resem- 
bles Gobelin tapestry ; you do not see the canvass on the 
right side ; but when you turn it, the threads are visible. 
The mystery of existence is the connection between 
our faults and our misfortunes. I never committed an 
error that was not the cause of a disaster." Yet she 
left life with regret, though death possessed for her no 
terrors. " I shall meet my father on the other side," 
she said, "and my daughter will ere long rejoin me." 
"I think," said she, one day, as if waking from a 
dream, " I think I know what the passage from life to 
death is ; and I am convinced that the goodness of 
God makes it easy ; our thoughts become confused, 
and the pain is not great." She died with the utmost 
composure, at Paris, July, 1817. 

Her husband survived her but a few months. 
" Grief put a period to his already precarious exist- 
ence. He withdrew from Paris, to die beneath the 
beautiful sky of Provence, and there breathed his last 
sighs in the arms of his brother." 

The chief works of Madame de Stael, and her 
peculiarities as an author, have already been spoken 



MADAME DE STAEL. 119 

of. One work, published after her death, and the 
most powerful of all, remains to be mentioned. In the 
" Considerations on the French Revolution," she sought 
to blend the memoir with the philosophical history. 
The faults are what might have been expected. The 
details, too minute for the one, are too scanty for the 
other. In the selection of these she was biased by 
her personal feelings, but to a degree far less than was 
to be anticipated. Her feelings were warm and exci- 
table ; she had lived in the midst of the events of which 
she speaks ; she had herself been an actor, and her 
father had borne a conspicuous part, in them ; indeed, 
one grand purpose of the work is to exculpate him. That 
she should, under these disqualifying circumstances, 
have produced a work so temperate, and on the whole 
so impartial — one that exhibits such philosophical depth 
and comprehensiveness of vision — excites in us wonder 
and admiration. But it is not as a history that the 
work is interesting and valuable. It is that it exhibits 
to. us the impressions made by the great events of 
which she speaks, and the scenes which she witnessed, 
upon a powerful and original mind. It abounds with 
profound reflections and brilliant remarks. The style, 
eloquent and impassioned, is in a high degree conver- 
sational, and, as we read it, we almost expect to hear 
the sound of the voice. The remarkable talent for dis- 
crimination and delineation of character, which distin- 
guish her as a novelist, lead us to regret that it did not 
come within the design of the work to furnish us with 
historical portraitures of the distinguished personages of 
the period. The few which she has given us, increase 
our regret, and mark her as a mistress in the art. 




LADY HESTER STANHOPE, 



LADY HESTER STANHOPE 



The third Earl of Stanhope, father of the subject of 
our present sketch, possessed abilities which qualified 
him for any station ; yet he devoted his ample fortune, 
his time, and his thoughts, to mechanics and to experi- 
ments in science and philosophy ; with what success, 
the Stanhope printing press, many improvements in 
the process of stereotype printing, and his various 
papers on the electric fluid, are evidence. He married 
a daughter of the great Earl of Chatham ; and of this 
marriage, Lady Hester Stanhope was the earliest 
fruit. She was born in 1776. 

Genius was the only inheritance she received from 
her father. Upon the death of her mother, which hap- 
pened when she was young, she was received into the 
house of her uncle, William Pitt, the younger, and was 
there brought up. Between this minister and his 
brother-in-law there was little sympathy of opinion. 
Stanhope was an enthusiast for the improvement of 
social institutions, and- hailed the French revolution 
as the beginning of the change which he hoped for. 
So confident was he in those views, as to urge upon 
his children the necessity of qualifying themselves to 
earn a living by some honest calling. He could no£ 

VI,— 11 4 



122 LADY HESTER STANHOPE. 

approve tne measures which the minister now adopted ; 
and, as his children adhered in principle to their uncle, 
he renounced them, saying, " that, as they had chosen 
to be saddled on the public purse, they must take the 
consequences." 

The genius and originality of Lady Hester made her 
an especial favorite with her uncle. She presided at 
his table, and he evinced his respect for her abilities, 
by employing her, after his retirement from office, as 
his secretary. Though to the multitude this great 
statesman appeared cold and unbending, with his 
intimates, and those whom he received into his private 
friendship, he was cheerful and affable ; to women he 
was polite in the extreme, and, in the midst of his 
gravest avocations, would rise to pick up his secretary's 
fallen handkerchief. Devoted to the affairs of state, 
Pitt paid no attention to his own pecuniary concerns, 
so that the only provision he could make for his niece 
at his death, was to recommend her to the favor of his 
king and country, who acknowledged their obligation 
to him by bestowing upon her a pension of twelve 
hundred pounds, annually. 

Soon after the death of her uncle, she left England, 
and spent some years in visiting the chief cities of 
continental Europe. Her rank, her beauty, and her 
fortune, were alone sufficient to attract crowds of 
suitors ; but they were all rejected. After satisfying 
her curiosity in Europe, she embarked, with a nu- 
merous retinue, for Constantinople, with the determina- 
tion of making a long sojourn in the East, and taking 
with her a large amount of property. A storm over- 
took the vessel on the coast of Caramania, fronting 



LADY HESTER STANHOPE. 123 

the Island of Rhodes; the vessel struck against a 
rock, and soon went to pieces, burying Lady Hester's 
jewels and other property, to a large amount, in the 
waves. Her own escape was almost miraculous. 
The piece of the wreck on which she had taken 
refuge was cast on the shore of a small, desert island, 
where she remained twenty-four hours, without help 
or food of any kind. At last, some fishermen of Mar- 
moriga, who were in search of the remains of the 
wreck, found her out, and brought her to Rhodes. 

Her resolution was not daunted by this disaster. 
She returned to England, collected the remains of her 
fortune, and, after investing a portion of it in the 
English funds, embarked once more for the East, 
taking with her articles for presents, and whatever else 
might be of service in the countries she designed to 
visit. Her voyage was prosperous, and she landed at 
the site of the ancient Laodicea, now called Latakia, 
between Tripoli and Alexandretta, on the coast of 
Syria. 

In the neighborhood of this place she fixed her resi- 
dence, and entered upon a course of preparation for 
her intended journeys into the most inaccessible parts 
of Arabia, Mesopotamia, and the desert. She strength- 
ened her body by diet and exercise, and, from being 
weak and debilitated, became strong and vigorous 
as an Amazon. She studied the Arab language, and 
sought for intercourse with the various classes of 
Arabs, Druses, and Maronites of the country. 

After having become perfectly familiar with the 
language, manners, and usages, of the country, she 
organized a large caravan, and, loading her camels 



124 LADY HESTER STANHOPE. 

with rich presents for the Arabs, set out on her travels. 
She visited every place worthy of notice in Syria. At 
Palmyra numerous hordes of wandering Arabs assem- 
bled round her tent, to the number of forty or fifty 
thousand, and, charmed by her beauty, her grace, and 
her splendor, proclaimed her queen of that once 
imperial city, and delivered firmans into her hand, by 
which it was agreed that every European who should 
receive her protection might proceed in perfect safety 
through the desert, paying to them a certain fixed 
tribute. 

The newly-proclaimed queen herself ran great 
hazard, on her return from Palmyra, and narrowly 
escaped being carried off by a tribe hostile to those 
of that region. She, however, received notice of her 
danger in season — by the swiftness of her horses, and 
a twenty-four hours' journey of almost incredible 
extent — to place herself and her caravan out of the 
reach of the enemy. The next few months she 
passed at Damascus, protected by the Turkish pacha, 
to whom the Porte had highly recommended her. 

Satisfied, at length, with a life of wandering, Lady 
Hester settled herself on one of the mountains of » 
Lebanon, near the ancient Sidon. Quitting this place, 
the traveller enters ifpon a wild and barren country. 
Hill succeeds to hill, and all are divested of vegetation 
or soil. At last, from the top of one of these rocks, 
his eye rests upon a valley deeper and broader than 
the rest, bordered on all sides by more majestic but 
equally barren mountains. In the midst of this valley 
the mountain of Djoun rises, with a flat summit cov- 
ered with a beautiful green vegetation. A white wall 



LADY HESTER STANHOPE, L'25 

surrounds this mass of verdure, and marks the habita- 
tion of the " Sittee Inglis," or " English lady." It is 
a confused assemblage of small cottages, each con- 
taining one or two rooms, without windows, and sep- 
arated from one another by small gardens. All the 
verdure was the result of her own labor ; she created 
what to Eastern eyes might seem a paradise — gardens 
containing bowers of fragrant vines, kiosks embel- 
lished with sculpture and paintings, with fountains of 
marble ; and arches formed of orange, fig, and lemon- 
trees. 

Here she resided for many years in a, style of 
Eastern magnificence, surrounded by a concourse of 
household officers, and a numerous retinue of young 
females, — upon whose education she employed herself, 
— and a host of servants, black and white. She held 
friendly intercourse with the Sublime Porte, with the 
various pachas, and with the chiefs of the numerous 
tribes of Arabs and others about her. Such was the 
state in which she lived, and the influence which she 
exerted, that she might well imagine herself " Queen 
of the Desert." 

But the splendor of her reign was soon dimmed. 
Her treasures were not large enough to bear the un- 
limited draughts upon them. Her Arab friends, 
whose affections were only to be preserved by con- 
stant gifts, cooled towards her when these became less 
rich and less frequent; those who had accompanied 
her from Europe, died or deserted her ; and she was 
at length left in a state of absolute retirement-. 

Some sources of influence still remained to her ; 
one of these was in that power which the strong- 
11* 



126 LADY HESTER STANHOPE. 

minded and educated always exercise over the weak 
and ignorant. Astrology — a science long banished 
from Europe — still holds its sway in the East. The 
opinion went abroad that Lady Hester could read the 
stars, and procured for her that respect among the 
common people, and, to a certain extent, that personal 
security, which had formerly been purchased with the 
shawls of Cashmere, and the rich silver-mounted 
pistols of England. 

But whilst practising these arts upon others, she 
became herself the victim of strange delusions. She 
came by degrees to believe that the history of all was 
written in the stars, and that she had there read the 
history of the world. The Messiah was soon to appear 
upon the earth, and by his side, mounted upon a milk- 
white mare of matchless beauty, which was then in 
her stable, she was to witness the conquest of Jerusa- 
lem, and the establishment of his kingdom. She had, 
too, in her stable the mare upon which her companion 
was to ride. This animal, in all other respects of beau- 
tiful proportions, had behind the shoulders a cavity so 
large and deep, and imitating so completely a Turkish 
saddle, that one might say with truth she was foaled sad- 
dled. The appearance of an animal with this peculiarity, 
in itself a deformity, served as an incitement to credulity, 
and to keep up the delusion. The animal was watched 
with the greatest care by two grooms, one of whom 
was never to lose sight of her. No one had ever 
mounted her, and from her bearing one might have 
fancied that the creature was conscious of the admira- 
tion and respect which were entertained for her by all 
around, and felt the dignity of her future mission. 



LADY HESTER STANHOPE. 127 

The talent which Lady Hester was supposed to 
possess was put in constant requisition by her credu- 
lous neighbors ; nor was her power ever exercised for 
bad purposes. She used it to calm the passions of the 
violent ; to induce the unjust and the oppressor to 
make reparation for their wrong-doings ; and put it 
to other good uses, of which the following anecdote, 
related by herself, will furnish an example : " An Arab 
suspected his wife of talking too much with strangers 
in his absence, and one of his neighbors confirmed his 
suspicions. He went home, proceeded to strangle the 
unfortunate woman, and, when she became insensible, 
he dragged her to some distance, and commenced 
interring her : the first heap of sand which he threw 
upon her recalled sensation ; she manifested symptoms 
of life, and he repented of his vengeance ; he brought 
her to me half dead ; told the story of her supposed 
guilt, but owned he was premature in strangling her, 
as he should have first got me to consult her star, to 
ascertain if she really deserved to die or not. I sent 
the woman to the harem, had her bled, and taken care 
of till she recovered, and then I summoned the man 
before me. ' My good friend,' said I, ' your wife's 
star has been consulted ; take her back in peace, and 
thank God you have her ; for it is written in the stars, 
" On vain surmises thou shalt not strangle thy wife, 
neither shalt thou hearken to the slanderers of her 
honor." ' The man immediately held out his hand to 
his gentle rib ; she kissed it, and forth he walked, de- 
siring her to follow him, with the most perfect indiffer- 
ence. I asked the woman if she were afraid of 
another act of violence. She calmly replied, ' Is he 



128 LADY HESTER STANHOPE* 

not my husband ? Has he not a right to kill me, if he 
suspects me of doing wrong ? ' " 

Lady Hester believed in the science of astrology 
to the fullest extent. She believed that we are all 
children of some one of the celestial fires which pre- 
sided at our birth, and of which the happy or malig- 
nant influence is written in our eyes, on our foreheads, 
in our fortunes, in the lines of our hands, in the form 
of our feet, in our gesture, in our walk. She believed 
that, from these various elements, she could read the 
character and destiny of any individual who was but for 
a few moments in her presence. In accordance with 
her belief, she thought that skilful astrologers should 
be appointed to every district, to consult the heavenly 
bodies at the birth of every child ; the nature of each 
natal star to be registered by them, and kept secret till 
the period of education, which is to be adapted to that 
particular calling which the star of every human being 
indicates. 

The following somewhat poetical description of the 
personal appearance of Lady Hester is given by a 
traveller, who, in 1832, was suffered to visit her — a 
favor rarely granted to Europeans : " I was introduced 
into her cabinet by a little negro child. It was so ex- 
tremely dark, that it was with difficulty I could distin- 
guish her noble, grave, yet mild and majestic features, 
clad in an Oriental costume. She rose from the divan, 
advanced, and offered me her hand. She appeared to 
be about fifty years of age ; but she possessed those 
personal traits which years cannot alter. Freshness, 
color, and grace, depart with youth ; but when beauty 
resides in the form itself, in purity of expression, in 



LADY HESTER STANHOPE. 129 

dignity, in majesty, and a thoughtful countenance, 
whether in man or woman, this beauty may change 
with the different periods of life, but it does not pass 
away — it eminently characterized the person of Lady 
Hester Stanhope. 

" She wore a white turban, and on her forehead was 
a purple-colored woollen fillet, which fell on each side 
of her head as low as her shoulders. A long, yellow 
Cashmere shawl, and an immense Turkish robe of 
white silk, with flowing sleeves, enveloped all her 
person in simple and majestic folds, while an opening 
of these folds upon the bosom displayed a tunic of rich 
Persian stuff, covered with flowers, which was attnched 
round the neck by a clasp of pearls. Turkish yellow 
morocco boots, embroidered with silk, completed this 
beautiful Oriental costume, which she wore with that 
freedom and grace, as if she had never used any other 
from her youth." 

Though Lady Hester retained her power over the 
lower classes by means of their superstitious fears, the 
neighboring chiefs were not to be thus restrained, and 
some of them sought by robbery to indemnify them- 
selves for the loss of the accustomed presents. Hoping 
to coerce her into a renewal of them, they harassed 
her by petty vexations ; her camels were seized ; her 
servants were beaten ; and at length, when she retal- 
iated, a firman was procured, forbidding any Mussul- 
man, on pain of death, to remain in her service, or to 
carry water to her house. The severity of the last pro- 
hibition may be judged from the fact that the water 
for the use of her house and garden had to be brought 
from a river three or four miles distant. Her appeal, 
i 



130 LADY HESTER STANHOPE. 

however, to the Porte procured the withdrawal of the 
firman, and saved her gardens from the destruction 
which a want of irrigation would soon have produced. 

In 1837, a new source of vexation to Lady Hester 
arose. The British government, having received infor- 
mation that some of her English creditors were in a 
state of destitution,, appropriated the pension which 
Lady Hester had so long received to their relief. 
This met with a spirited remonstrance on the part of 
her ladyship, who called to her aid the Duke of Wel- 
lington and other opponents of the whig administra- 
tion. Failing in these efforts, she appealed to the queen 
herself, but with no better success. She did not long 
survive this new source of mortification. On hearing 
of her illness, the British consul at Beyroot, accom- 
panied by Mr. Thomson, an American missionary, 
hastened to her assistance ; but, on their arrival, nothing- 
was left for them to do but to pay the last sad offices to 
her remains. She died on the 23d of June, 1839. 

Various and opposing motives have been assigned 
for the unusual conduct of Lady Hester: we think, 
however, its explanation is to be found in. an eccentric 
imagination, a turn for adventure, and that love of 
power which is inherent in the human breast. We can 
hardly consider it more extraordinary that one English 
lady should be found willing to accept a government 
under the sunny skies of Syria, than that so many 
English officers should seek for sway on the burning 
shores of Africa and the East Indies. 




HANNAH MORE. 



Hannah More was -the youngest but one of the 
five daughters of Jacob More, who, after receiving an 
education for the church, bounded his wishes by the 
possession of a school at Stapleton, England, upon ob- 
taining which, he married the daughter of a respectable 
farmer ; and to the soundness of her judgment in the 
culture and regulation of her children, the credit and 
success which attended them are, in a great degree, to 
be attributed. 



132 HANNAH MORE. 

Like other intelligent children, Hannah More dis- 
played at an early age a desire for knowledge and a 
love of books. To supply the want of the latter, her 
father- was accustomed to relate to his children, from 
memory, the most striking events of Grecian and 
Roman history, dwelling much on the parallels and 
wise sayings of Plutarch. He would also recite lo 
them the speeches of his favorite heroes in the origi- 
nal languages, and then translate them into English. 
Hannah thus acquired a taste for the Latin classics, 
an acquaintance with which she carefully cultivated, 
in defiance of her father's horror of Hue stockingism, 
which was extreme, and which probably prevented his 
instructing her in Greek. 

The bent of her mind displayed itself at an early 
age. Every scrap of paper, of which she could possess 
herself, was scribbled over with essays and poems, 
having some well-directed moral. Her little sister, 
with whom she slept, was the depositary of her nightly 
effusions ; and, in her zeal lest they should be lost, she 
would sometimes steal down to procure a light, and 
commit them to paper. The greatest wish her imagi- 
nation could frame, was that she might some day be 
rich enough to have a whole quire of paper ; and, when 
this wish was gratified, she soon filled it with letters 
to depraved characters, of her own invention, urging 
them to abandon their errors, and letters in return, 
expressive of contrition and resolutions of amendment. 

Her elder sisters, having been educated with that 
view, opened a boarding-school for young ladies at 
Bristol ; and under their care the school education 
of Hannah was completed. While yet a pupil, she 



HANNAH MORE. 133 

attracted the notice and enjoyed the friendship of 
many eminent men. She delighted to study the 
sciences with Ferguson, the astronomer ; and such was 
his opinion of her taste and genius, that he submitted 
his compositions to her for the correction of errors in 
style. Of her conversational powers at this period an 
anecdote is related. A dangerous illness brought her 
under the care of Dr. Woodward, an eminent physi- 
cian. On one of his visits, being led into conversation 
with his patient on literary subjects, he forgot the 
purpose of his coming ; till, recollecting himself when 
half way down stairs, he cried out, " Bless me ! I 
forgot to ask the girl how she was ; " and returned to 
the room, exclaiming, " How are you to-day, my poor 
child?" 

In her seventeenth year, she appeared before the 
public as an author. The class of books, now so 
common, called " Readers," and " Speakers," was 
then unknown. Young persons were in the habit of 
committing to memory the popular plays of the day, 
which were not always pure in their sentiments, or 
moral in their tendency. " To furnish a substitute," 
as the youthful moralist tells us in her preface, " for 
the very improper custom of allowing plays, and those 
not of the purest kind, to be acted by young ladies in 
boarding-schools, and to afford them an innocent, and 
perhaps not altogether unuseful amusement, in the 
exercise of recitation," she composed a drama, called 
the " Search after Happiness." Her object was to 
convey instruction in a pleasing form, and the inten- 
tion was well executed. The plot is of the simplest 
kind, and one not calculated to kindle the fervors of 
vi— 12 



134 HANNAH MORE. 

poetry. Four young ladies betake themselves to the 
retreat of a virtuous lady, who, with her two daughters, 
has renounced the world and fixed herself in a se- 
cluded spot — to receive from her, as from an oracle, 
instructions which shall guide them in the way which 
leads to peace and contentment. 

Among the pupils of the Misses More were two 
Misses Turner, who were in the habit of passing the 
vacations at the house of a bachelor cousin of the 
same name. They were permitted to bring some of 
their young friends with them, and took the two 
youngest of their governesses, Hannah and Patty 
More. " The consequence was natural. Hannah 
was clever and fascinating ; Mr. T. was generous 
and sensible : he became attached, and made his 
offer, which was accepted. She gave up her interest 
in the school, and was at much expense in fitting 
herself out to be the wife of a man of fortune.' 1 The 
day was fixed more than once for the wedding, and 
Mr. Turner each time postponed it. Her sisters and 
friends interfered, and broke off the engagement, and 
would not suffer her to listen to any of his subsequent 
proposals. To compensate her, as he said, for the 
robbery he had committed on her time, and to enable 
her to devote herself to literary pursuits, Mr. Turner 
settled upon her an annuity ; and at his death, to show 
that he still retained his esteem, he left her a legacy. 
The distress and disturbance which this event occa- 
sioned her, led to a resolution, on her part, never again 
to incur a similar hazard — a resolution the strength of 
which was tested by actual trial. 

Among the favorite sports of Hannah's childhood 



HANNAH MORE. 135 

was the making a carriage of a chair, and playing at 
riding to London to visit bishops and booksellers — a 
day-dream which became a reality in 1784. Of the 
circumstances which led to the journey we have no 
record. A few days after her arrival in London, she 
was, by a fortunate accident, brought to the notice of 
Garrick. A letter written by her to a mutual friend, 
describing the effect produced upon her mind by his 
representation of Lear, was shown to him, and ex- 
cited in him a curiosity to see and converse with her. 
The desire was gratified ; they were reciprocally 
pleased, and Miss More was soon domesticated with 
Mr. Garrick and his affectionate wife; and, for the 
next twenty years, she spent six months of each year 
under their hospitable roof. Through them she was 
at once received on terms of cordial kindness into 
their wide and splendid circle. She was welcomed as 
a sister spirit by the coterie which she has so elab- 
orately eulogized in the " Bas Bleu." She has often 
been heard to describe, very humorously, her raptures 
on her first introduction to a " live author," and her 
sisters long remembered her strong desire to get a 
sight, from some hiding-place, of Dr. Johnson. She 
was now to meet him face to face. The first inter- 
view was at Sir Joshua Reynolds's. She had been 
prepared by Sir Joshua for finding him in one of his 
sombre moods, but was surprised and delighted at his 
coming to meet her, as she entered the room, with 
good-humor on his countenance, and a macaw of Sir 
Joshua's on his hand ; and still more at his accosting 
her with a verse from a morning hymn, which she had 



136 HANNAH MORE. 

written at the desire of her early and firm friend, Dr. 
Stonehouse. 

A few extracts from the sprightly letters of a sister 
who accompanied her, will furnish the best picture of 
the scenes in which Miss More now bore a part. 
" Hannah has been introduced to Burke — the Sublime 
and Beautiful Burke ! From a large party of literary 
persons assembled at Sir Joshua's she received the 
most encouraging compliments ; and the spirit with 
which she returned them was acknowledged by all 
present." " The most amiable and obliging of women 
— Miss Reynolds — has taken us to Dr. Johnson's very 
own house ! Can you picture to yourselves the palpi- 
tation of our hearts as we approached his mansion ? 
Miss Reynolds told the doctor of all our rapturous ex- 
clamations on the road. He shook his scientific head 
at Hannah, and said, 'she was a silly thing.' When 
our visit was ended, he called for his hat to attend us 
down a very long entry to our coach, and not Rasselas 
could have acquitted himself more en cavalier. I 
forgot to mention, that, not finding Johnson in his parlor 
when we came in, Hannah seated herself in a great 
chair, hoping to catch a little ray of his genius : when 
he heard of it, he laughed heartily, and told her it was 
a chair on which he never sat. He said it reminded 
him of Boswell and himself, when they stopped a 
night at the spot — as they imagined — where the weird 
sisters appeared to Macbeth ; the idea so worked upon 
their enthusiasm that it deprived them of rest ; how- 
ever, they learned, the next morning, to their mortifica- 
tion, that they had been deceived, and were quite in 
another part of the country." 






HANNAH MOKE. 137 

Johnson was not always, however, in the humor to 
swallow the flattery which she lavished upon him ; 
Mrs. Thrale records a surly enough rebuke which the 
doctor administered to her : " Consider, madam, what 
your flattery is worth before you choke me with it." 
As he was complaining, upon another occasion, that he 
had been obliged to ask Miss Reynolds to give her a 
hint on the subject, somebody observed that she flat- 
tered Garrick also ; " Ay," said the doctor, " and she 
is right there ; first, she has the world with her; and, 
secondly, Garrick rewards her. I can do nothing for 
her. Let her carry her praise to a better market." 
But in this flattery there was no want of sincerity and 
no disingenuousness. At the age of thirty-one she had 
brought to London the fresh, ecstatic enthusiasm of a 
country girl of seventeen ; when, instead of having 
Johnson pointed out to her as he rolled along the 
pavement of Fleet Street, and gazing at Garrick from 
the side boxes, she found herself at once admitted to 
the inmost circle of the literary magnets — it is not 
wonderful that her feelings should overflow in language 
and gesture rather too warm for the acclimated in- 
habitants of the temperate zone. 

The same hyperbolical style is to be found in the 
letters intended only for the eyes of her sisters. " Mrs. 
Montagu is not only the finest genius, but the finest 
lady, I ever saw ; she lives in the highest style of mag- 
nificence ; her apartments and tables are in the most 
splendid taste ; but what baubles are these when speak- 
ing of a Montagu ! Her form — for she has no body 
— is delicate to fragility ; her countenance the most 
animated in the world ; she has the sprightly vivacity of 
L2* 



138 HANNAH MORE. 

sixteen, with the judgment and experience of a Nestor. 
Mrs. Carter has in her person a great deal of what the 
gentlemen mean when they speak of a ' poetical lady : ' 
independently of her great talents and learning, I 
like her much : she has affability, kindness, and good- 
ness ; and I honor her heart more than her talents ; 
but I do not like one of them better than Mrs. Bos- 
cawen ; she is at once learned, polite, judicious, and 
humble.'" At a party at which all these and other 
luminaries were collected, Dr. Johnson asked Miss 
More her opinion of the new tragedy of " Braganza." 
"I was afraid," says she, "to speak before them all, 
as I knew there was a diversity of opinion : however, 
as I thought it a less evil to dissent from a - fellow- 
creature than to tell a falsity, I ventured to give my 
sentiments, and was satisfied with Johnson's answering, 
1 You are right, madam.' " 

Stimulated by the approbation of such judges, Miss 
More turned to literature with redoubled energy ; and 
from this period, the important part of her personal his- 
tory may be read in that of a succession of works, all in 
their season popular ; all commendable for moral tone ; 
considerably above mediocrity in literary execution ; 
and some of them worthy to survive their age. 

After her return home, she one day laughingly said 
to her sisters, " I have been so fed with praise, that I 
think I will try what is my real value, by writing a slight 
poem, and offering it to Cadell." Accordingly she 
wrote and sent him " Sir Eldred of the Bower," a bal- 
lad in the style which Dr. Percy had rendered popular. 
Cadell offered her a price far exceeding her idea of its 
worth ; adding that, if she would ascertain what Gold- 



HANNAH MORE. 139 

smith received for the " Deserted Village," he would 
make it up to the same sum. With the public the 
poem met with a success which its merits by no means 
justify. At a tea-visit in her own lodgings, where she 
had Johnson all to herself, — and as she tells us he 
ought always to be had, for he did not care to speak in 
mixed companies, — the new poem was discussed. The 
leviathan of letters, instead of expressing his contempt 
for compositions of this class, and treating her to a new 
stanza, — like 

" 1 put my hat upon my head, 
And walked into the Strand, 
And there I met another man 
With his hat in his hand," — 

indited the following, which she proudly engrafted on 
the original in the second edition, no doubt receiving 
the compliment as paid to the author, rather than to 
the heroine : — 

" My scorn has oft the dart repelled 
Which guileful beauty threw ; 
But goodness heard, and grace beheld, 
Must every heart subdue." 

In her early life, Miss More was subject to frequent 
attacks of illness, which she was wont to say were a 
great blessing to her, for they induced a habit of indus- 
try not natural to her, and taught her to make the most 
of her well days. She laughingly added, it had 
taught her to contrive employment, for her sick ones ; 
that from habit she had learned to suit her occupations 
to every gradation of the capacity she possessed. " J 



140 HANNAH MORE. 

never," said she, " afford a moment of a healthy day 
to cross a I or dot an i; so that I find the lowest 
stage of my understanding may be turned to some 
account, and save better days for better things. I have 
learned also to avoid procrastination, and that idleness 
which often attends unbroken health." These habits 
of order and industry gave her much time for intel- 
lectual pursuits, even amidst the dissipations of the city. 
At her first introduction to its brilliant society, 
Patty More seemed to have some apprehensions that 
her sister "Hannah's head might not stand proof 
against all the adulation and kindness of the great 
folks." But these effected no change in her deport- 
ment ; her simplicity remained unsullied ; home and 
the society of her sisters had lost for her none of 
its charms. Her good sense and firmness of character 
were subjected to a yet more severe trial upon the pro- 
duction of the tragedy of " Percy." Nothing could 
exceed the zeal which Garrick displayed to insure 
its success. Miss More thus speaks of it in a letter to 
her sister: "It is impossible to tell you of all the 
kindness of the Garricks ; he thinks of nothing, talks 
of nothing, writes of nothing, but c Percy.' When he 
had finished his prologue and epilogue, he desired I 
would pay him. Diyden, he said, used to have five 
guineas apiece, but, as he was a richer man, he would 
be content if I would treat him with a handsome sup- 
per and a bottle of claret. We haggled sadly about 
the price ; I insisting that I could only afford to give 
him a beef-steak and a pot of porter ; and at about 
twelve, we sat down to some toast and honey, with 
which the temperate bard contented himself." She 



HANNAH MORE. 141 

adds in the same letter, " What dreadful news from 
America ! — Burgoyne's surrender. — We are a dis- 
graced, undone nation. What a sad time to bring out 
a play in ! when, if the country had the least spark of 
virtue remaining, not a creature would think of going 
to it." 

The success of " Percy " was prodigious ; greater 
than that of any tragedy for years. She received for 
it about six hundred pounds, which, she tells us, " her 
friend Mr. Garrick invested for her on the best secu- 
rity, and at five per cent., and so it made a decent 
little addition to her small income." Cadell paid one 
hundred and fifty pounds for the copy-right, and it 
proved a very successful speculation. The first edi- 
tion, of four thousand copies, — a very large one for 
those days, — was sold off in a fortnight. 

Though the patronage of Garrick and the popular- 
ity of the author contributed in no small degree to 
its success, yet the tragedy itself possesses Intrinsic 
merits. The plot is simple. Bertha, the daughter of 
Lord Raby, is betrothed, in early youth, to Earl Percy. 
His family incur the displeasure of Lord Raby, and, 
during the young earPs absence in the Holy Land, he 
compels his daughter to marry Earl Douglas, the 
hereditary enemy of the Percys. The proud spirit 
of Douglas is chafed to find that his own ardent love 
is met only with cold and respectful obedience. He 
suspects the preengagement of her affections, and his 
jealousy rouses him to fury, when Percy is found in 
the neighborhood of his castle. In the catastrophe, 
all the principal personages are involved in a common 
destruction. In the development of the plot the author 



142 HANNAH MORE. 

displays considerable imagination, and much dramatic 
skill. The interest is well sustained ; the didactic 
spirit sometimes breaks forth, as in the conclusion of 
the following extract, in which Lord Raby laments the 
sombre and melancholy spirit with which the jealousy 
of Douglas has infected his whole household : — 

" Am I in Raby castle ? 

Impossible ! That was the seat of smiles; 

There cheerfulness and joy were household gods. 

But now suspicion and distrust preside, 

And discontent maintains a sullen sway. 

Where is the smile unfeigned, the jovial welcome, 

Which cheered the sad, beguiled the pilgrim's pain, 

And made dependency forget its bonds ? 

Where is the ancient, hospitable hall, 

Whose vaulted roof once rung with harmless mirth; 

Where every passing stranger was a guest, 

And every guest a friend ? I fear me much, 

If once our nobles scorn their rural seats, 

Their rural greatness, and their vassals' love, 

Freedom and English grandeur are no more." 

The following passage, in which Bertha seeks to 
exculpate herself for the breach of faith with which 
Percy, whom she meets by accident after his return, 
charges her, is full of pathos : — 

" I could withstand his fury ; but his tears — 
Ah, they undid me ! Percy, dost thou know 
The cruel tyranny of tenderness ? 
Hast thou e'er felt a father's warm embrace ? 
Hast thou e'er seen a father's flowing tears, 
And known that thou couldst wipe those tears away ? 
If thou hast felt, and hast resisted these, 
Then thou may'st curse my weakness ; but if not, 
Thou canst not pity, for thou canst not judge." 



HANNAH MORE. 143 

Encouraged by the success of " Percy," and urged 
by Garrick, Miss More composed a second tragedy, 
called the " Fatal Falsehood." The whole was com- 
pleted, and four acts had been revised by Garrick, 
when death deprived her of that warm and disinter- 
ested friend. Miss More pays the following tribute to 
his memory : " I never can cease to remember with 
affection and gratitude so warm, steady, and disinter- 
ested a friend ; I can most truly bear this testimony to 
his memory, that I never witnessed, in any family, 
more decorum, propriety, and regularity, than in his ; 
where I never saw a card, or ever met — except in one 
instance — a person of his own profession at his table. 
All his pursuits and tastes were so decidedly intel- 
lectual, that it made the society and the conversation 
which was always to be found in his circle, interesting 
and delightful." 

The success of the " Fatal Falsehood " was great, 
but not equal to that of " Percy." We must content 
ourselves with making one extract, in which she char- 
acterizes " Honor," as it is technically called : — 

" Honor ! O yes, 1 know him. Tis a phantom, 
A shadowy figure, wanting bulk and life, 
Who, having nothing solid in himself, 
Wraps his thin form in Virtue's plundered robe, 
And steals her title. Honor ! 'tis the fiend 
Who feeds on orphans' tears and widows' groans, 
And slakes his impious thirst in brothers' blood. 
Honor ! why, 'tis the primal law of hell ! 
The grand device to people the dark realms 
With noble spirits, who, but for this cursed honor, 
Had been at peace on earth, or blessed in heaven. 
With this false honor Christians have no commerce; 
Religion disavows, and truth disowns it." 



144 HANNAH MORE. 

One more tragedy, the " Inflexible Captive," com- 
pletes Miss More's labors in this department of litera- 
ture. She arrived at the conclusion that, by contrib- 
uting plays, however pure, to the existing stage, she 
should be using her powers to heighten its general 
attraction as a place of amusement ; and, considering 
the English theatre as, on the whole, the most profligate 
in the world, she resolved to abjure it and all its con- 
cerns forever — an instance of self-love sacrificed to 
principle hardly to be paralleled. When her works 
were collected, the tragedies were allowed to take 
their place, in order, as the author tells us in a preface 
written in her happiest manner, that she might ground 
on such publication her sentiments upon the general 
tendency of the drama, and, by including in her view 
her own compositions, might involve herself in the 
general object of her own animadversions. 

She makes no apology for the republication of her 
" Sacred Dramas," though they may, perhaps, be re^ 
garded as falling within the range of some of her crit- 
icisms on the old Mysteries and Moralities — pieces " in 
which events too solemn for exhibition, and subjects too 
awful for detail, are brought before the audience with 
a formal gravity more offensive than levity itself." 

As a general poet, Miss More was, at this period, 
the very height of the fashion. Horace Walpole 
thought himself honored in being permitted to print 
some of her pieces in the most lavish style of expense, 
at the press of Strawberry Hill. But fashions in litera- 
ture are scarcely more lasting than those in dress. 
Her poems are now immersed in Lethe, except a 
few terse couplets, which have floated down to the 



HANNAH MORE. 14& 

present generation on the stream of oral citation, and 
are now often in the mouths of people who fancy that 
they belong to Swift or Gay. Many of her poems are, 
however, worthy of a better fate. They are distin- 
guished by purity and elevation of sentiment, ease and 
strength of diction, and harmony of versification. In 
the last particular she received great praise from 
Johnson, who pronounced her to be " the best versi- 
ficatrix in the English language." 

We will give a few extracts. The first is from 
" Sensibility," a poem in which she claims for that 
quality the place which Mrs. Grenville, in a then well- 
known ode, arrogated for " Indifference." 

" Sweet sensibility ! thou keen delight ! 
Unprompted moral ! sudden sense of right ! 
Perception exquisite ! fair virtue's seed ! 
Thou quick precursor of the liberal deed ! 
Thou hasty conscience ! reason's blushing morn ! 
Instinctive kindness e'er reflection 's born ! 
Prompt sense of equity ! to thee belongs 
The swift redress of unexamined wrongs ; 
Eager to serve, the cause perhaps untried, 
But always apt to choose the suffering side ; 
To those who know thee not no words can paint, 
And those who know thee know all words are faint 
She does not feel thy power who boasts thy flame, 
And rounds her every period with thy name. 
As words are but th' external marks to tell 
The fair ideas in the mind that dwell, 
And only are of things the outward sign, 
And not the things themselves they but define, 
So exclamations, tender tones, fond tears, 
And all the graceful drapery feeling wears, — 
These are her garb, not her ; they but express 
Her form, her semblance, her appropriate dress ; 
j vi.— 13 



146 HANNAH MORE, 

And these fair marks, — reluctant 1 relate, — 

These lovely symbols, may be counterfeit. 

There are who fill with brilliant plaints the page, 

If a poor linnet meet the gunner's rage ; 

There are who for a dying fawn deplore, 

As if friend, parent, country, were no more ; 

Who boast, quick rapture trembling in their eye, 

If from a spider's snare they snatch a fly ; 

There are whose well-sung plaints each breast inflame, 

And break all hearts — but his from whence they came." 

The " Bas Bleu " is a sprightly portraiture of what 
she considered to be the right constitution and char- 
acter of social conversation. It is a vivacious image of 
that circle of gay and graceful conversers from whose 
appellation it takes its name. It was first circulated in 
manuscript, and we find Miss More apologizing to her 
sister for the shortness of a letter, on the ground that 
she had not a moment to spare, as she was copying the 
" Bas Bleu," for the king, at his request. Dr. Johnson 
pronounced it to be "a very great performance." 
To the author herself he expressed himself in yet 
stronger terms. She writes to her sister, " As to the 
4 Bas Bleu,' all the flattery I ever received from every 
body together would not make up his sum. He said 
• — but I seriously insist you do not tell any body, for I 
am ashamed of writing it even to you — he said, 
* there was no name in poetry that might not be glad 
to own it.' You cannot imagine how I stared ; all this 
from Johnson, that parsimonious praiser ! I told him I 
was delighted at his approbation ; he answered quite 
characteristically, 4 And so you may, for I give you 
She opinion of a man who does not rate his judgment 



HANNAH MOKE. 14? 

in these things very low, I can tell you.' •" The fol- 
lowing extract will give some idea of its merits : — 

" What lively pleasure to divine 
The thought implied, the printed line 1 
To feel allusion's artful force, 
And trace the image to its source ! 
Quick Memory blends her scattered rays, 
Till Fancy kindles at the blaze ; 
The works of ages start to view, 
And ancient wit elicits new. 
But wit and parts if* thus we praise, 
What nobler altars shall we raise ? 
Those sacrifices could we see 
Which wit, O virtue ! makes to thee, 
At once the rising thought to dash, 
To quench at once the bursting flash ! 
The shining mischief to subdue, 
And lose the praise and pleasure too ! 
Though Venus' self could you detect her 
Imbuing with her richest nectar 
The thought unchaste, to check that thought, 
To spurn a fame so dearly bought, — 
This is high principle's control, 
This is true continence of soul. 
Blush, heroes, at your cheap renown, 
A vanquished realm, a plundered town ■ 
Your conquests were to gain a name — 
This conquest triumphs over fame." 

" Florio " is a metrical tale of a young man of good 
principles and right feelings, who, from deference to 
fashion, has indulged in vanities and follies bordering 
on depravity, which he lays aside in disgust when 
virtue and good sense, in alliance with female loveli- 
ness, have made apparent to him the absurdity and 
danger of his aberrations, In the following extract the 



148 HANNAH MORE. 

reader will recognize some of those oft-quoted couplets 
of which we have spoken : — 

" Exhausted Florio, at the age 
When youth should rush on glory's stage, 
When life should open fresh and new, 
And ardent Hope her schemes pursue, 
Of youthful gayety bereft, 
Had scarce an unbroached pleasure lett > 
He found already, to his cost, 
The shining gloss of life was lost, 
And Pleasure was so coy a prude, 
She fled the more, the more pursued ; 
Or, if o'ertaken and caressed, 
He loathed and left her when possessed. 
But Florio knew the world ; that science 
Sets sense and learning at defiance ; 
He thought the world to him was known, 
Whereas he only knew the town. 
In men this blunder still you find : 
All think their little set — mankind. 
Though high renown the youth had gained, 
No flagrant crimes his life had stained ; 
Though known among a certain set, 
He did not like to be in debt ; 
He shuddered at the dicer's box, 
Nor thought it very heterodox 
That tradesmen should be sometimes paid, 
And bargains kept as well as made. 
His growing credit, as a sinner, 
Was, that he liked to spoil a dinner, 
Made pleasure and made business wait, 
And still by system came too late ; 
Yet 'twas a hopeful indication 
On which to found a reputation : 
Small habits, well pursued, betimes 
May reach the dignity of crimes ; 
And who a juster claim preferred 
Than one who always broke his word ? " 



HANNAH MORE. 149 

The death of Garrick may be considered an era in 
the life of Miss More. His wit, his gayety, his intel- 
ligence, added to his admiration of her genius, and the 
warmth of his friendship for her, formed the strongest 
spell that held her in subjection to the fascinations of 
brilliant society and town life. The early feeling 
which prompted the infant wish for " a cottage too 
low for a clock " was still fresh in her bosom. The 
country, with its green pastures and still waters, still 
retained its charms for her. " I have naturally," she 
writes, " but a small appetite for grandeur, which is 
always satisfied, even to indigestion, before I leave 
town ; and I require a long abstinence to get any relish 
for it again." After the death of her friend, she 
carried into execution the resolution she had long 
cherished, of passing a portion of her time in retire- 
ment in the country. With this view, she possessed 
herself of a little secluded spot, which had acquired 
the name of " Cowslip Green," near Bristol. 

Still, however, her sensibility to kindness would not 
let her withhold herself entirely from her London 
friends ; her annual visits to Mrs. Garrick brought her 
back into contact with the world and its crowded 
resorts. 

From her earliest acquaintance with society, she had 
seen with sorrow the levity of manners, the indifference 
to religion, and the total disregard of the Sabbath, 
which prevailed in its higher circles. Not content 
with holding herself uncontaminated, she felt it to be 
her duty to make an effort for a reformation, and with 
this end she published " Thoughts on the Importance 
of the Manners of the Great to General Society." To 
13* 



150 HA1NNAH MORE. 

appreciate the value of the effort, we must remember 
that these " Thoughts" were not the animadversions of 
a recluse, but of one who was flattered, admired, and 
courted, by the very people whom she was about to 
reprove ; that the step might probably exclude her 
from those circles in which she had hitherto been so 
caressed. But the happiness of her friends was dearer 
to her than their favor. That the probable conse- 
quences did not ensue, does not diminish her merit 
This work and the one which speedily followed it, 
"An Essay on the Religion of the Fashionable World," 
were popular beyond hope, and the wish of Bishop 
Porteus, " that it might be placed in the hands of 
every person of condition," was almost realized. It 
is unnecessary to dwell on these works ; they are too 
well known ; they established her reputation as a great 
moral writer, possessing a masterly command of lan- 
guage, and devoting a keen wit and a lively fancy to 
the best and noblest of purposes. — After giving one ex- 
tract from the most vigorous of her poems, " Slavery," 
written to aid the efforts which Clarkson and Wilber- 
force were making in behalf of the African slave, and 
in which she heartily sympathized, we will pass on to 
new scenes, in which Miss More's benevolent spirit 
exhibits itself in a yet more active manner. 

" O thou sad spirit, whose preposterous yoke 
The great deliverer, death, at length has broke ! 
Released from misery, and escaped from care, 
Go, meet that mercy man denies thee here. 
And if some notions, vague and undefined, 
Of future terrors, have assailed thy mind ; 
If such thy masters have presumed to teach — 



MKHHAR MOKE. 151 

As terrors only they are prone to preach ; 

For, should they paint eternal mercy's reign, 

Where were the oppressor's rod, the captive's chain ? — 

If, then, thy troubled soul has learned to dread 

The dark unknown thy trembling footsteps tread, 

On Him who made thee what thou art depend ; 

He who withholds the means accepts the end. 

Thy mental night thy Savior will not blame ; 

He died for those who never heard his name. 

Nor thine the reckoning dire of light abused, 

Knowledge disgraced, and liberty misused : 

On thee no awful judge incensed shall sit, 

For parts perverted or dishonored wit. 

When ignorance will be found the safest plea, 

How many learned and wise shall envy thee ! " 

In withdrawing herself from general society, Miss 
More had cherished the hope of devoting herself to 
meditation and literary leisure. But there was no rest 
for her but in the consciousness of being useful. In 
the course of her rambles in the neighborhood of her 
residence, she was shocked to find the same vices, 
against which she had lifted up her voice in high 
places, existing in the peasant's cottage, in a different 
form, but heightened by ignorance, both mental and 
spiritual. Though in a feeble state of health, she 
could not withhold herself from the attempt to effect 
a reformation. 

In this she had no coadjutors but her sisters, who, 
having acquired a competency, had retired from school- 
keeping, and had, with her, a common home. Pro- 
vision was made by law for the support of clergymen ; 
but the vicar of Cheddar received his fifty pounds a 
year, and resided at Oxford ; and the rector of Axbridge 
" was intoxicated about six times a week, and was 



152 HANNAH MORE. 

very frequently prevented from preaching by two 
black eyes, honestly acquired by fighting." 

She commenced operations by seeking to establish 
a school at Cheddar. Some of the obstacles she 
encountered may be best related in her own words. 
" I was told we should meet with great opposition, if I 
did not try to propitiate the chief despot of the village, 
who is very rich and very brutal ; so I ventured to the 
den of this monster, in a country as savage as himself. 
He begged I would not think of bringing any religion 
into the country ; it made the poor lazy and useless. 
In vain I represented to him that they would be more 
industrious, as they were better principled ; and that I 
had no selfish views in what I was doing. He gave 
me to understand that he knew the world too well to 
believe either the one or the other. I was almost 
discouraged from more visits ; but I found that friends 
must be secured at all events ; for, if these rich savages 
set their faces against us, I saw that nothing but hos- 
tilities would ensue : so I made eleven more of these 
agreeable visits ; and, as I improved in the art of can- 
vassing, had better success. Miss W. would have 
been shocked, had she seen the petty tyrants whose 
insolence I stroked and tamed, the ugly children I 
praised, the pointers and spaniels I caressed, the cider 
I commended, and the wine I swallowed. After these 
irresistible flatteries, I inquired of each if he could 
recommend me to a house, and said that I had a 
little plan which I hoped would secure their orchards 
from being robbed, their rabbits from being shot, their 
game from being stolen, and which might lower the 
poor rates. If effect be the best proof of eloquence, 



HANNAH MORE. 153 

then mine was good speech, for I gained in time the 
hearty concurrence of the whole people, and their 
promise to discourage or favor the poor as they were 
attentive or negligent in sending their children. Per- 
haps the hearts of some of these rich brutes may be 
touched ; they are as ignorant as the beasts that 
perish, intoxicated every day before dinner, and 
plunged in such vices as make me begin to think 
London a virtuous place." The vicarage house, 
which had not been occupied for a hundred years, 
was hired for a school-house ; " the vicar," she says, 
" who lives a long way off, is repairing the house for 
me ; and, as he is but ninety-four years old, he insists 
on my taking a lease, and is as rigorous about the rent 
as if I were taking it for an assembly-room." 

The prejudices of the poor were more difficult to 
be overcome than those of the rich. Some thought 
that her design was to make money, by sending off 
their children for slaves ; others, that, if she instructed 
them for seven years, she would acquire such a control 
as to be able to send them beyond seas. But she 
persisted, and her success was great beyond expecta- 
tion. In a short time, she had at Cheddar near three 
hundred children, under the charge of a discreet ma- 
tron, whom she hired for the purpose. 

Encouraged by this success, she extended her field 
of operations, and established schools at several other 
villages. The nearest of these was six miles from 
her home ; the labor and fatigue of superintending the 
whole was therefore very great. But she declined an 
assistant for reasons stated in a letter to Mr. Wilber- 
force, who had offered to seek for one. " An ordinary 



154 HANNAH MORE. 

person would be of no use ; one of a superior cast 
who might be able to enter into my views, and further 
them, would occasion an expense equal to the support 
of one or two more schools. It will be time enough 
to think of your scheme when I am quite laid by. 
This hot weather makes me suffer terribly ; yet I have 
now and then a good day, and on Sunday was ena- 
bled to open the school. It was an affecting sight. 
Several of the grown-up lads had been tried at the 
last assizes ; three were children of a person lately 
condemned to be hanged ; many thieves ; all igno- 
rant, profane, and vicious, beyond belief. Of this 
banditti I have enlisted one hundred and seventy ; and 
when the clergyman, a hard man, who is also a magis- 
trate, saw these creatures kneeling round us, whom he 
had seldom seen but to commit or to punish in some 
way, he burst into tears." 

Her plan was not limited to intellectual and spiritual 
instruction. The children were taught to sew, to spin, 
and to knit. Nor were her labors confined to the 
advancement of the well-being of the young; she 
sought to introduce branches of manufacture, suitable 
to the strength and sex of the women, and she arranged 
with master manufacturers to buy the products of their 
labor. She sought to establish habits of economy by 
getting up associations, in which each contributed a 
portion of her earnings, on condition of receiving a 
support in case she should be disabled from labor. 
This was a work of difficulty. Though the subscrip- 
tion was only three half-pence per week, yet many 
could not raise even this: such were privately assisted. 
Other inducements, besides considerations of provi- 



HANNAH MORE, 155 

dence, must be held out to the improvident. "An 
anniversary feast of tea was held, at which some of 
the clergy and better sort of people were present. 
The patronesses waited on the women, who sat and 
enjoyed their dignity. The journal and state of affairs 
was read. A collateral advantage resulted from this. 
The women, who used to plead that they could not go 
to church because they had no clothes, now went. 
The necessity of going to church in procession on the 
anniversary, raised an honest ambition to get some- 
thing decent to wear, and the churches on Sunday 
were filled with veiy clean-looking women." 

Similar machinery was brought into exercise to 
advance the cause of her schools. Two years after 
the first attempt, we find this apology for not sooner 
writing to a friend : a I have been too busy in pre- 
paring for a grand celebration, distinguished by the 
pompous name of Mendip Feast ; the range of hills 
you remember in this country, on the top of which 
we yesterday gave a dinner of beef, and plum pud- 
ding, and cider, to our schools. There were not six 
hundred children, for I would not admit the new 
schools, telling them they must be good for a year or 
two, to be entitled to so great a thing as a dinner. 
Curiosity had drawn a great multitude, for a country 
so thinly peopled ; one wondered whence five thousand 
people — for that was the calculation — could come. 1 
We all parted with the most perfect peace, having fed 
about nine hundred people for less than a fine dinner 
for twenty, costs." 

It would require a large volume to speak of all Miss 
More's labors in behalf of erring and suffering human- 



156 HANNAH MORE. 

ity. At one time, we find her engaged, in the most 
harassing and embarrassing situations, spending days 
and nights with armed Bow Street officers in searching 
the vilest haunts for a young heiress, who had been 
trepanned away from school at the age of fourteen. 
The details of another of her attempts to alleviate 
suffering, exhibit so strikingly the genuine liberality of 
her heart and conduct, as to be worth relating. She 
was one day informed that a woman, who called every 
day for stuff to feed a pig, was, with her husband and 
children, perishing with hunger. She lost no time in 
endeavoring to rescue this miserable family, and soon 
discovered that the woman was possessed of more 
than ordinary talent. She produced several scraps of 
poetry, which evinced much genius. It occurred to 
Miss More that this talent might be made the means 
of exciting a general interest in her behalf, and raising 
a fund to set her up in some creditable way of earning 
a subsistence. She accordingly took a great deal of 
pains in instructing her in writing, spelling, and com- 
position ; and, while the object of her charity was 
preparing, under her inspection, a small collection of 
poems, she was employed in writing to all her friends 
of rank and fortune, bespeaking subscriptions. Mrs. 
Montagu cautioned her not to let her own generous 
nature deceive her as to the character and temper of 
her beneficiary. " It has sometimes happened to me," 
she writes, " that, by an endeavor to. encourage talents 
and cherish virtue, by driving from them the terrifying 
spectre of pale poverty, I have introduced a legion of 
little demons : vanity, luxury, idleness, and pride, have 
entered the cottage the moment poverty vanished. 



HANNAH MORE. 157 

However, I am sure despair is never a good coun- 
sellor." 

For thirteen months, Miss More's time was largely 
occupied in the woman's service, and the result of 
her efforts was the realization of a sum exceeding 
three thousand dollars, which was invested for the 
woman's benefit under the trusteeship of Mrs. Mon- 
tagu and Miss More. The result is made known in a 
letter from the latter to the former. " I am come to 
the postscript, without having found courage to tell you, 
what I am sure you will hear with pain ; at least it 
gives me infinite pain to write it. I mean the open 
and notorious ingratitude of our milk-woman. There 
is hardly a species of slander the poor, unhappy crea- 
ture does not propagate against me, because I have 
called her a milk-woman, and because I have placed 
the money in the funds, instead of letting her spend it. 
I confess my weakness ; it goes to my heart, not for 
my own sake, but for the sake of our common nature. 
So much for my inward feelings ; as to my active re- 
sentment, I am trying to get a place for her husband, 
and am endeavoring to increase the sum I have raised 
for her. Do not let this harden your heart or mine 
against any future object. 4 Do good for its own sake ' 
is a beautiful maxim." The milk-woman presently put 
her slanders into a printed shape ; and Mrs. Montagu, 
on reading the libel, found one thing Miss More's letter 
had not prepared her for. Here is her comment: 
" Mrs. Yeardsley's conceit that you can envy her talents 
gives me comfort, for, as it convinces me she is mad, 
I build upon it a hope that she is not guilty in the 
All-seeing Eye." The last allusion which Miss More 
vi.— 14 



158 HANNAH MORE. 

herself makes to the behavior of " Lactilla " is on the 
occasion of a second publication of hers, in which the 
generous patroness was again, after a lapse of two 
years, maligned and insulted with a cool bitterness 
that may well be called diabolical, and is in these 
words, addressing Horace Walpole : " Do, dear sir, 
join me in sincere compassion, without one atom 
of resentment. If I wanted to punish an enemy, it 
should be by fastening on him the trouble of constantly 
hating somebody." Mrs. Montagu and Miss More 
resisted with exemplary patience the woman's violent 
importunities to be put in possession of the principal, 
as well as interest, of her little fortune, fearing that it 
would be consumed in those vices to which it was 
apparent she was addicted. At length, they gave over 
the trust to a respectable lawyer, who transferred it to 
a merchant of Bristol ; and he was soon harassed into 
the relinquishment of the whole concern. 

In the year 1792, affairs wore a very gloomy and 
threatening aspect in England. French revolutionary 
and atheistical principles seemed to be spreading wide 
their destructive influence. Indefatigable pains were 
taken, not only to agitate and mislead, but to corrupt 
and poison, the minds of the populace. At this crisis, 
letters poured in upon Miss More, from persons of 
eminence, earnestly calling upon her to produce some 
little tract which might serve to counteract these perni* 
cious efforts. The intimate knowledge she had shown 
of human nature, and the lively and clear style of her 
writings, which made them attractive, pointed her out 
as the proper person for such an effort. Though she 
declined an open attempt to stem the mighty torrent, 



HANNAH MORE. 159 

which she thought a work beyond her powers, she 
yet felt it to be her duty to try them in secret, and, 
in a few hours, composed the dialogue of "Village 
Politics, by Will Chip." The more completely to 
keep the author unknown, it was sent to a new pub- 
lisher. In a few days, every post from London brought 
her a present of this admirable little tract, with urgent 
entreaties that she would use every possible means of 
disseminating it, as the strongest antidote that could be 
administered to the prevailing poison. It flew with a 
rapidity almost incredible into the remotest parts of 
the kingdom. Government distributed many thou- 
sands. Numerous patriotic associations printed large 
editions; and in London only, many hundred thou- 
sands were distributed. 

Internal evidence betrayed the secret of the author- 
ship ; and, when the truth came out, innumerable 
were the thanks and congratulations which bore cor- 
dial testimony to the merit of a performance, by 
which the tact and intelligence of a single female 
had turned the tide of misguided opinion. Many 
affirmed that it contributed essentially to prevent a 
revolution ; so true was the touch, and so masterly the 
delineation, which brought out, in all its relief, the 
ludicrous and monstrous cheat, whereby appetite, self- 
ishness, and animal force, were attempted to be im- 
posed under the form of liberty, equality, and impre- 
scriptible right. 

The success of M Village Politics " encouraged Miss 
More to venture on a more extensive undertaking. 
The institution of Sunday schools, which had enabled 
multitudes to read, threatened to be a curse instead of 



160 HANNAH MORE. 

a blessing ; for, while no healthy food was furnished for 
their minds, the friends of infidelity and vice carried 
their exertions so far as to load asses with their per- 
nicious pamphlets, and to get them dropped, not only 
in cottages and in the highways, but into mines and 
coal-pits. Sermons and catechisms were already fur- 
nished in abundance ; but the enemy made use of the 
alluring vehicles of novels, tales, and songs, and she 
thought it right to meet them with their own weapons. 

She therefore determined to produce three tracts 
every month, written in a lively manner, under the 
name of the " Cheap Repository." The success sur- 
passed her most sanguine expectations. Two millions 
were sold in the first year — a circumstance, perhaps, 
new in the annals of printing. But this very success, 
she tells us, threatened to be her ruin ; for, in order 
to supplant the trash, it was necessary to undersell it, 
thus incurring a certain loss. This, however, was met 
by a subscription on the part of the friends of good 
order and morals. 

The exertion which it required to produce these 
tracts, to organize her plan, and to conduct a cor- 
respondence with the committees formed in various 
parts of the kingdom, materially undermined her 
health. She continued them, however, for three years. 
" It has been," she writes, " no small support to me, 
that my plan met with the warm protection of so many 
excellent persons. They would have me believe that 
a very formidable riot among the colliers was pre- 
vented by my ballad of " The Riot." The plan was 
settled ; they were resolved to work no more ; to 
attack the mills first, and afterwards the gentry. A 



HANNAH MORE. 161 

gentleman gained their confidence, and a few hundreds 
were distributed, and sung with the effect, they say, 
mentioned above — a fresh proof by what weak in- 
struments evils are now and then prevented. The 
leading tract for the next month is the bad economy of 
the poor. You, my dear madam, will smile to see 
your friend figuring away in the new character of a 
cook furnishing receipts for cheap dishes. It is not, 
indeed, a very brilliant career ; but I feel that the value 
of a thing lies so much more in its usefulness than its 
splendor, that I think I should derive more gratification 
from being able to lower the price of bread, than from 
having written the Iliad." 

That Miss More's efforts in behalf of virtue should 
be opposed by those against whom they were aimed, 
will not surprise us. But she was attacked from a 
quarter whence she had a right to expect sympathy 
and support. The nature of the attack will be learned 
from a letter written some years afterwards : "I will 
say, in a few words, that two Jacobin and infidel 
curates, poor and ambitious, formed the design of 
attracting notice and getting preferment by attacking 
some charity schools — which, with no small labor, I 
have carried on in this country for near twenty years — 
as seminaries of vice, sedition, and disaffection. At 
this distance of time, — for it is now ended in their 
disgrace and shame, — it will make you smile when I 
tell you a few of the charges brought against me, viz., 
that I hired two men to assassinate one of these clergy- 
men ; that I was actually taken up for seditious prac- 
tices ; that I was with Hadfield in his attack on the 
king's life. At the same time they declared : — mark 
k 14* 



162 HANNAH MORE, 

the consistency — that I was in the pay of the govern- 
ment, and the grand instigator of the war, by my mis- 
chievous pamphlets. That wicked men should invent 
this, is not so strange as that they should have found 
magazines, reviews, and pamphleteers, to support 
them. My declared resolution never to defend myself 
certainly encouraged them to go on. How thankful 
am I that I kept that resolution ! though the grief and 
astonishment excited by the combination against me 
nearly cost me my life." 

There is not space to go at large into an account 
of this persecution, which was continued for several 
years. The most inveterate of her enemies was the 
curate of her own parish, who was named Bere, and the 
most distressing result to herself was being obliged to 
discontinue the school at that place. But, whilst labor- 
ing so earnestly for the poor and the humble, Miss 
More was still mindful of the wants of the higher 
classes, and, in the midst of her anxiety and distress, 
which very seriously affected her health, she found 
time to compose the " Strictures on Female Educa- 
tion," for their benefit. All her practical admonitions, 
and all her delineations of female excellence, were 
afterwards brought together in the character of Lucilla, 
in the novel of " Ccelebs in Search of a Wife," who 
is a true representative of feminine excellence within 
the legitimate range of allotted duties. She did not 
venture on publishing this work without much anxious 
hesitation. " I wrote it," she says, " to amuse the 
languor of disease. I thought there were already good 
books enough in the world for good people, but that 
there was a large class of readers, whose wants had 



HANNAH MORE. 163 

not been attended to — the subscribers to the circu- 
lating library. A little to raise the tone of that mart 
of mischief, and to counteract its corruptions, I thought 
an object worth attempting." It was published without 
her name, and though many at once recognized the 
style, she herself did not acknowledge it till it had 
passed through many editions. It excited such imme- 
diate and universal attention, that, in a few days after 
its first appearance, she received notice to prepare for 
a second edition ; and shortly afterwards she was fol- 
lowed to Dawlish, whither she had gone to try the 
effect of repose and the sea air, in restoring her 
health, by the eleventh edition. 

Her works at an early period were duly estimated 
in the United States, and of the M Coelebs " thirty editions 
had been issued before the author's death. It is not a 
little creditable to the public taste, that a work so full 
of plain and practical truth should be so well received. 
In " Coelebs," as well as in some of her smaller produc- 
tions, Miss More evinces her power of invention, and 
gives proof that, had she chosen to employ fiction as 
the vehicle of instruction, her imagination would have 
afforded her abundant resources ; but habit and the 
bias of her mind led her in another course : a certain 
substantiality of purpose, a serious devotion to decided 
and direct beneficence, an active and almost restless 
principle of philanthropy, were the great distinctions 
of her character. 

When the education of the Princess Charlotte became 
a subject of serious attention and inquiry, the advice 
and assistance of Miss More were requested by the 
queen. Bishop Porteus strenuously advised that the 



164 HANNAH MORE. 

education should be intrusted to her ; but, when the 
latter required that the entire direction should be given 
to her charge, this was thought, by those in power, to 
be too great a confidence. They were willing to 
engage her in a subordinate capacity ; but this she 
declined, and so the negotiation ended. Her ideas on 
the subject were given to the world under the title of 
" Hints for forming the Character of a Young Prin- 
cess" — a book which subsequently was a great fa- 
vorite with her for whose benefit it was intended, and 
doubtless contributed to the formation of those vir- 
tues and principles which made her death so much 
lamented. 

In the country Miss More had hoped to find retire- 
ment. But Barley Wood — a place to which she had 
removed, about one mile from Cowslip Green — was 
any thing but a hermitage. " Though," she says, " I 
neither return visits nor give invitations, except when 
quite confined by sickness, I think I never saw more 
people, known and unknown, in my gayest days. I 
never had so many cares and duties imposed upon me 
as now in sickness and old age. I know not how to 
help it. If my guests are old, I see them out of 
respect, and in the hope of receiving some good ; if 
young, I hope I may do them a little good ; if they 
come from a distance, I feel as if I ought to see them 
on that account ; if near home, my neighbors would 
be jealous of my seeing strangers, and excluding 
them." Her epistolary labors were enormous. She 
laid it down as a rule never to refuse or delay answer- 
ing any application for epistolary advice, enduring the 
incessant interruptions with .indefatigable kindness. 



HANNAH MORE. 165 

In spite, however, of all the interruptions of com- 
pany and of sickness ; for, as she tells us, " From early- 
infancy to late old age, her life was a successive scene 
of visitation and restoration," she found time and 
strength to compose a series of works on " Morals," — 
the last of the three being produced in the seventy-fifth 
year of her age. 

In 1828, Miss More was subjected to the severest 
trial, perhaps, of her life. After the death of her 
sister Martha, who had been the manager of the 
domestic economy of the sisterhood, affairs at Barley 
Wood got into sad confusion. Dishonest and dissolute 
servants wasted her substance. After trying in vain to 
correct the evil by mild remonstrance, she sank quietly 
under what seemed inevitable, and determined to take 
the infliction as a chastisement to which it was her duty 
to submit. At length, however, her friends interposed, 
and represented to her the danger of her appearing as 
the patroness of vice, and thereby lessening the influ- 
ence of her writings. It was determined that her es- 
tablishment should be broken up. At a bleak season 
of the year, on a cold and inclement day, after a long 
confinement to her chamber, she removed to Clifton. 
From her apartment she was attended by several of 
the principal gentlemen of the neighborhood, who had 
come to protect her from the approach of any thing 
that might discompose her. She descended the stairs 
with a placid countenance, and walked silently for a 
few minutes round the lower room, the walls of which 
were covered with the portraits of her old and dear 
friends, who had successively gone before her. As she 
was helped into the carriage, she cast one" pensive, 



166 HANNAH MORE. 

parting look upon her bowers, saying, " I am driven, 
like Eve, out of paradise ; but not, like Eve, by 
angels." From the shock of the discovery of the mis- 
conduct of her servants, Miss More never recovered. 
After her removal to Clifton, her health was in a very 
precarious state. To her friends and admirers it was 
painful to see her great and brilliant talents descend- 
ing to the level of mere ordinary persons ; but the 
good, the kind, the beneficent qualities of her mind 
suffered no diminution or abatement. So long as 
her intellectual faculties remained but moderately im- 
paired, her wonted cheerfulness and playfulness of 
disposition did not forsake her ; and no impatient or 
querulous expressions escaped her lips, even in mo- 
ments of painful suffering. Thus free from the in- 
firmities of temper, which often render old age 
unamiable and unhappy, she was also spared many 
of the bodily infirmities which often accompany 
length of years. To the very last her eye was not 
dim ; she could read with ease, and without spectacles, 
the smallest print. Her hearing was almost unim- 
paired, and, until very near the close of her life, her 
features were not wrinkled or uncomely. Her death- 
bed was attended with few of the pains and infirmities 
which are almost inseparable from sinking nature. 
She looked serene, and her breathing was as gentle as 
that of an infant in sleep. Her pulse waxed fainter 
and fainter, and her spirit passed quietly away on the 
7th of September, 1833. 



MRS. BARBAULD. 



Anna Letitia Barbaitld, a name long dear to the 
admirers of genius and the lovers of virtue, was born 
at the village of Kibworth Harcourt, in Leicestershire, 
on June 20th, 1743. She was the eldest child and 
only daughter of John Aikin, D. D., and Jane, his wife, 
daughter of the Rev. John Jennings, of Kibworth, and 
descended by her mother from the ancient family of 
Wingate, of Harlington, in Bedfordshire. 

That quickness of apprehension by which she was 
eminently distin uished, manifested itself from early 
infancy. Her mother writes thus respecting her in 
a letter which is still preserved : " I once, indeed, 
knew a little girl who was as eager to learn as her 
instructors could be to teach her ; and who, at two 
years old, could read sentences and little stories in her 
wise book, roundly, without spelling, and, in half a 
year more, could read as well as most women ; but I 
never knew such another, and, I believe, never shall." 

Her education was entirely domestic, and principally 
conducted by her excellent mother, a lady whose 
manners were polished by the early introduction to 
good company which her family connections had pro- 
cured her ; whilst her mind had been cultivated, and 



168 MRS. BARBAULD. 

her principles formed, partly by the instructions of 
religious and enlightened parents, and partly by the 
society of the Rev. Dr. Doddridge, who was for some 
years domesticated under the parental roof. 

In the middle of the last century, a strong prejudice 
still existed in England against imparting to females 
any degree of classical learning ; and the father of 
Miss Aikin, proud as he justly was of her uncommon 
capacity, long refused to gratify her earnest desire of 
being initiated in this kind of knowledge. At length, 
however, she in some degree overcame his scruples ; 
and, with his assistance, she enabled herself to read the 
Latin authors with pleasure and advantage ; nor did 
she rest satisfied without gaining some acquaintance 
with the Greek. 

The obscure village of Kibworth was unable to 
afford her a suitable companion of her own sex : her 
brother, the late Dr. Aikin, was more than three years 
her junior ; and as her father was, at this period, the 
master of a school for boys, it might have been appre- 
hended that conformity of pursuits, as well as age, 
would tend too nearly to assimilate her with the youth 
of the ruder sex, by whom she was surrounded. But 
the vigilance of her mother effectually obviated this 
danger, by instilling into her a double portion of bash- 
fulness and maidenly reserve ; and she was accus- 
tomed to ascribe an uneasy sense of constraint in 
mixed society, which she could never entirely shake 
off, to the strictness and seclusion in which it had thus 
become her fate to be educated. 

Her recollections of childhood and early youth were, 
in fact, not associated with much of the pleasure and 



MRS. BARBAULD. 169 

gayety usually attendant upon that period of life ; but 
it must be regarded as a circumstance favorable, rather 
than otherwise, to the unfolding of her genius, to be 
left thus to find, or make, in solitude, her own objects 
of interest or pursuit. The love of rural nature sank 
deep in her heart. Her vivid fancy excited itself to 
color, animate, and diversify, all the objects which sur- 
rounded her ; the few but choice authors of her father's 
library, which she read and re-read, had leisure to 
make their full impression, — to mould her sentiments, 
and to form her taste. The spirit of devotion, early in- 
culcated upon her as a duty, opened to her, by degrees, 
an exhaustless source of tender and sublime delight ; 
and while yet a child, she was surprised to find herself 
a poet. 

Just at the period when longer seclusion might have 
proved seriously injurious to her spirits, an invitation 
given to her learned and exemplary father to under- 
take the office of classical tutor to a highly respectable 
academy at Warrington, in Lancashire, was the for- 
tunate means of transplanting her to a more varied and 
animating scene. This removal took place in 1758, 
when Miss Aikin had just attained the age of fifteen ; 
and the fifteen succeeding years, passed by her at 
Warrington, comprehended probably the happiest, as 
tfell as the most brilliant, portion of her existence. 
She was at this time possessed of great beauty, distinct 
traces of which she retained to the latest period of her 
life. Her person was slender, her complexion fair, 
with the bloom of perfect health : her features were 
regular and elegant ; and her light blue eyes beamed 
with the light of wit and fancy. 
vi.— 15 



170 MKS. BARBAULD. 

A solitary education had not produced on her its 
most frequent ill effects, pride and self-importance ; 
the reserve of her manners proceeded solely from 
bashfulness, for her temper inclined her strongly to 
friendship, and to social pleasures ; and her active im- 
agination, which represented all objects tinged with 
hues " unborrowed of the sun," served as a charm 
against that disgust with common characters and daily 
incidents, which so frequently renders the conscious 
possessor of superior talents at once unamiable and 
unhappy. 

Nor was she now in want of congenial associates. 
Warrington academy included among its tutors names 
eminent both in science and literature ; with several 
of these, and especially with Dr. Priestley and Dr. 
Canfield and their families, she formed sincere and 
lasting friendships. The elder and more accomplished 
among the students composed an agreeable part of the 
.same society ; and its animation was increased by a 
mixture of young ladies, either residents in the town, 
or occasional visitors, several of whom were equally 
distinguished for personal charms, for amiable man- 
ners, and cultivated minds. The rising institution, 
which flourished for several years in high reputation, 
diffused a classic air over all connected with it. Miss 
Aikin, as was natural, took a warm interest in its suc- 
cess ; and no academic has ever celebrated his alma 
mater in nobler strains, or with a more filial affection, 
than she has manifested in that portion of her early 
and beautiful poem, " The Invitation," where her 
theme is this " nursery of men for future years." 

About the close of the year 1771, her brother, after 



MRS. BARBAULD. 171 

several years of absence, returned to establish himself 
in his profession at Warrington — an event equally 
welcome to her feelings and propitious to her literary 
progress. In him she possessed a friend with discern- 
ment to recognize the stamp of genius in her produc- 
tions, and anticipate their fame, combined with zeal 
and courage sufficient to vanquish her reluctance 
to appear before the public in the character of an 
author. By his persuasion and assistance, her poems 
were selected, revised, and arranged for publication ; 
and when all these preparations were completed, find- 
ing that she still hesitated and lingered, — like the 
parent bird, who pushes off its young to their first 
flight, he procured the paper, and set the press to 
work on his own authority. The result more than 
justified his confidence of her success; four editions 
of the work were called for within the year of publi- 
cation, 1773 ; compliments and congratulations poured 
in from all quarters; and even the periodical critics 
greeted her muse with nearly unmixed applause. 

She was not permitted to repose upon her laurels. 
Her brother, who possessed all the activity and spirit 
of literary enterprise, in which she was deficient, now 
urged her to collect her prose pieces, and to join him 
in forming a small volume, which appeared also in the 
year 1773, under the title of " Miscellaneous Pieces in 
Prose, by J. and A. L. Aikin." These likewise met 
with much notice and admiration, and have been 
several times reprinted. The authors did not think 
proper to distinguish their respective contributions, and 
several of the pieces have, in consequence, been gen- 
erally misappropriated. The fragment of " Sir Ber- 



172 MRS. BARBAULD, 

trand," in particular, though alien from the character 
of that brilliant and airy imagination which was never 
conversant with terror, and rarely with pity, has been 
repeatedly ascribed to Mrs. Barbauld, even in print. 

Having thus laid the foundation of a lasting repu- 
tation in literature, Miss Aikin might have been ex- 
pected to proceed with vigor in rearing the superstruc- 
ture ; and the world awaited with impatience the 
result of her further efforts. But an event, the most 
important of her life, was about to subject her to new 
influences, new duties, to alter her station, her course 
of life, and to modify even the bent of her mind. 
This event was her marriage, which took place in 
May, 1774. 

Her husband, the Rev. Rochemont Barbauld, was 
a dissenting minister, descended from a family of 
French Protestants, who had taken refuge in England 
in the reign of Louis XIV. Mr. Barbauld was edu- 
cated in the academy at Warrington, and, at the time 
of his marriage, had been recently appointed to the 
charge of a dissenting congregation at Palgrave, in 
Suffolk, near Diss, in Norfolk, where he had an- 
nounced his intention of opening a boarding-school 
for boys. This undertaking proved speedily success- 
ful — a result which must in great part be attributed, 
first to the reputation, and afterwards to the active 
exertions, of Mrs. Barbauld. She particularly super- 
intended the departments of geography and English 
composition, which latter she taught by a method 
then unusual, but which has since been brought much 
into practice. Her plan, according to the statement 
of Mr. William Taylor, of Norwich, one of her first 



MRS. BARBAULD. 173 

pupils, was, to read a fable, a short story, or a moral 
essay, aloud, and then to send them back into the 
school-room to write it out on slates in their own 
words. Each exercise was separately examined by 
her : the faults of grammar were obliterated, the vul* 
garisms were chastised, the idle epithets were can- 
celled, and a distinct reason was always assigned for 
every correction, so that the arts of inditing and crit- 
icising were in some degree learnt together. Mrs. 
Barbauld also instructed the pupils in the art of decla- 
mation ; and the pleasing accomplishments of good 
reading and graceful speaking have probably never 
been taught with more assiduity or with better success 
than by herself. After a few years thus devoted, Mrs. 
Barbauld was solicited to receive several little boys as 
her own peculiar pupils ; and among this number may 
be mentioned Lord Denman, the present Chief Justice 
of England, and the celebrated Sir William Gell. It 
was for the use of these, her almost infant scholars, 
that she composed her " Hymns in Prose for Children.' 

In 1775, Mrs. Barbauld published a small volume 
entitled "Devotional Pieces, compiled from the Psalms 
of David, with Thoughts on the Devotional Taste, and 
on Sects and Establishments." About the same time, 
she wrote that admirable little volume, "Early Les- 
sons," a publication which has ever since been a 
standard work, and, though frequently imitated, yet 
remains unrivalled amidst all its competitors. 

This little volume was written for the use of one of 

her nephews, who had been adopted by Mr. Barbauld 

and herself, in consequence of their having no child of 

their own. In the present day, when parents are in 

15* 



m 



MRS. BARBAULD- 



possession of the labors of many clever persons for 
aiding the task of early instruction, it is difficult to 
form a correct estimate of the value of Mrs. Barbauld's 
" Early Lessons." At the time of its first appear- 
ance, as at present, there was a multitude of books 
professedly written for children, but few adapted to 
the comprehension of a child of very tender age, that 
were not at the same time injurious from their folly 
or puerility. 

It would seem that the value of a book which was 
not only free from these objections, but calculated to 
impress upon the mind of the child just ideas and 
noble principles, could not fail to be appreciated by 
every parent and teacher ; but there are those who 
maintain that the reformation begun by Mrs. Barbauld 
is an evil. It would seem that, in putting " Mother 
Goose's Melodies," " Jack the Giant-Killer," and other 
works of the kind, into the hands of children, as soon 
as they begin to read, we are likely to distort their 
minds by grotesque representations, which may exert 
a lasting and pernicious influence on their understand- 
ings; that we set about teaching what is false, and 
what we must immediately seek to unteach ; that we 
inculcate the idea upon the young mind that books 
are vehicles of fiction and incongruity, and not of 
truth and reason. 

If the works alluded to produce any effects, they 
must be of this nature ; and on some minds they have 
probably had a fatal influence. Yet such is the preju- 
dice engendered by early associations, that many grave 
persons, whose first reading was of the kind we have 
mentioned, lament the repudiation of " Mother Goose " 



MRS. BARBAULD, 175 

and her kindred train, and deem it a mistake to use 
books in their place founded on the idea of Mrs. Bar- 
bauld's works — that truth is the proper aliment of 
the infant mind, as well calculated to stimulate the 
faculties as fiction, and that its exhibition is the only 
safe and honest mode of dealing with those whose 
education is intrusted to our care. 

The success of the school at Palgrave remained 
unimpaired ; but the unceasing call for mental exer- 
tion, on the part of the conductors, which its duties 
required, so much injured their health, that, after 
eleven years of unremitting labor, an interval of 
complete relaxation became necessary ; and Mrs. 
Barbauld accompanied her husband, in the autumn 
of 1785, to Switzerland, and afterwards to the south 
of France. In the following year they returned to 
England, and, early in 1787, took up their residence 
in Hampstead, where, for several years, Mr. Barbauld 
received a few pupils. • 

In 1790, Mrs. Barbauld published an eloquent and 
indignant address to the successful opposers of the 
repeal of the corporation and test acts. In the fol- 
lowing year was written her poetical epistle to Mr. 
Wilberforce, on the rejection of the bill for abolishing 
the slave trade. In 1792, she published " Remarks on 
Mr. Gilbert Wakefield's Inquiry into the Expediency 
and Propriety of Public or Social Worship ; " and in 
1793, she produced a work of a kind very unusual 
for a female — a sermon, entitled " The Sins of Gov- 
ernment Sins of the Nation." In all these works Mrs. 
Barbauld showed those powers of mind, that ardent 
love for civil and religious liberty, and that genuine 



176 MRS. BARBAULD. 

and practical piety, by which her life was distinguished, 
and for which her memory will long be held in rev- 
erence. In particular, her " Remarks on Mr. Wake- 
field's Inquiry " may be noticed as being one of the best 
and most eloquent, and yet sober, appeals in favor of 
public worship that has ever appeared. 

Our youthful readers will be pleased to learn that 
Mrs. Barbauld wrote some of the articles in that enter- 
taining work by her brother, Dr. Aikin, entitled 
" Evenings at Home." These contributions were four- 
teen in number. It would be useless to distinguish 
them here, or to say more concerning them than that 
they are equal in merit to the other parts of the vol- 
umes. These papers, trifling in amount, but not in 
value, comprise all that Mrs. Barbauld published from 
1793 to 1795, when she superintended an edition of 
Akenside's " Pleasures of Imagination," to which she 
prefixed a critical essay. In 1797, she brought out an 
edition of Collins's " Odes," with a similar introduction. 
These essays are written with elegance, and display 
much taste and critical acuteness. 

Mr. Barbauld became, in 1802, pastor of a Unitarian 
congregation at Newington Green, and at this time 
he changed his residence to Stoke Newington. The 
chief inducement to this removal was the desire felt 
by Mrs. Barbauld and her brother to pass the remain- 
der of their lives in each other's society. This wish 
was gratified during twenty years, and was interrupted 
only by death. In 1804, she published a selection of 
the papers contained in the Spectator, Guardian, Tat- 
ler and Freeholder, with a preliminary essay, in which 
is given an instructive account of the state of society 



MRS. BARBAULD. 177 

at the time the papers originally appeared, and of the 
objects at which they aimed. This essay has been 
much admired for its elegance and acuteness. In 
the same year, Mrs. Barbauld prepared for publication 
a selection from the correspondence of Richardson, 
the novelist, prefixing a biographical notice of him, 
and a critical examination of his works. 

About this time, Mrs. Barbauld's husband, to whom 
she had been united for more than thirty years, fell into 
a state of nervous weakness, and at last died, in Novem- 
ber, 1808. From the dejection occasioned by this 
loss, Mrs. Barbauld sought relief in literary occupation, 
and undertook the task of editing a collection of the 
British novelists, which was published in 1810. To 
these volumes she contributed an introductory essay, 
and furnished biographical and critical notices of the life 
and writings of each author ; these were written with 
her usual taste and judgment. In the next year, she 
composed and published the longest and most highly- 
finished of her poems, entitled " Eighteen Hundred and 
Eleven." The time at which this poem appeared was 
by many persons looked upon with gloomy forebodings, 
and the matters of which it treats were considered as 
indicative of the waning fortunes of Great Britain. It 
was perhaps owing to the spirit of melancholy predic- 
tion by which it is pervaded, that the poem was not 
received by the public as it deserved. It is written 
throughout with great power and in harmonious lan- 
guage ; its descriptions are characterized by deep 
feeling and truth, and its warnings are conveyed with 
an earnestness which is the best evidence of the sin- 
cerity of the author, 
i, 



178 MRS. BARBAULD. 

The unfair construction applied to her motives in 
writing this poem probably prevented Mrs. Barbauld 
from appearing again as an author. Her efforts were 
confined to the humble task of administering to the 
gratification of a circle of private friends. Although 
arrived at years which are assigned as the natural 
limit of human life, her fancy was still bright, and she 
continued to give evidence by occasional compositions 
of the unimpaired energy of her mind. Her spirits 
were greatly tried, during the latter years of her life, 
by the loss of her brother, who died in 1822, and of 
several cherished companions of her early days, who 
quickly followed. Her constitution, naturally excellent, 
slowly gave way under an asthmatic complaint, and on 
the 9th of March, 1825, after only a few days of serious 
illness, she died, in the eighty-second year of her age. 

In domestic and social life, Mrs. Barbauld was char- 
acterized by strong sense, deep feeling, high moral 
principle, and a rational but ardent piety. She passed 
through a lengthened term of years, free from the 
annoyance of personal enmities, and rich in the 
esteem and affection of all with whom she was con- 
nected. The cause of rational education is more in- 
debted to her than to any individual of modern times, 
inasmuch as she was the leader in that reformation 
which has resulted in substituting the use of truth and 
reason for folly and fiction, in books for the nursery. 
She has also shown that a talent for writing for youth 
is not incompatible with powers of the highest order. 
Her epistle to Mr. Wilberforce is full of lofty senti- 
ment, and, at the same time, is most felicitously exe- 
cuted. We give a specimen of her writing in a lighter 



MRS. BARBAULD. 179 

vein, which has been justly celebrated for its truth 
and humor. 

« WASHING-DAY. 

" The muses are turned gossips ; they have lost 
The buskined step, and clear, high-sounding phrase, — 
Language of gods. Come, then, domestic muse, 
In slip-shod measure, loosely prattling on 
Of farm, or orchard, pleasant curds and cream, 
Or drowning flies, or shoes lost in the mire, 
By little whimpering boy, with rueful face ; 
Come, muse, and sing the dreaded washing ; day. 
Ye who beneath the yoke of wedlock bend 
With bowed soul, full well ye ken the day 
Which week, smooth gliding after week, brings on 
Too soon ; for to that day nor peace belongs, 
Nor comfort. Ere the first gray streak of dawn, 
The red-armed washers come and chase repose ; 
Nor pleasant smile, nor quaint device of mirth, 
E'er visited that day : the very cat, 
From the wet kitchen scared, and reeking hearth, 
Visits the parlor — an unwonted guest. 
The silent breakfast meal is soon despatched, 
Uninterrupted save by anxious looks 
Cast at the lowering sky, if sky should lower. 
From that last evil, O, preserve us, heavens ! 
For, should the skies pour down, adieu to all 
Remains of quiet : then expect to hear 
Of sad disasters - dirt and gravel stains 
Hard to efface, and loaded lines at once 
Snapped short, and linen-horse by dog thrown down, _ 
And all the petty miseries of life. 
Saints have been calm while stretched upon the rack, 
And Guatimozin smiled on burning coals ; 
But never yet did housewife notable 
Greet with a smile a rainy washing-day. 
But grant the welkin fair ; require not, thou 



180 MRS. BARBAULD, 

Who call'st thyself perchance the master there, 

Or study swept, or nicely-dusted coat, 

Or usual 'tendance ; ask not, indiscreet, 

Thy stockings mended, though the yawning rents 

Gape wide as Erebus ; nor hope to find 

Some snug recess impervious ! should'st thou try 

Th' accustomed garden walks, thine eye shall rue 

The budding fragrance of thy tender shrubs, 

Myrtle or rose, all crushed beneath the weight 

Of coarse checked apron, with impatient hand 

Twitched off when showers impend ; or crossing lines 

Shall mar thy musings, as the cold, wet sheet 

Flaps in thy face abrupt. Woe to the friend 

Whose evil stars have urged him forth to claim, 

On such a day, the hospitable rites ! 

Looks blank at best, and stinted courtesy, 

Shall he receive. Vainly he feeds his hopes 

With dinner of roast chickens, savory pie, 

Or tart, or pudding : pudding he nor tart 

That day shall eat ; nor, though the husband try, 

Mending what can't be helped, to kindle mirth 

From cheer deficient, shall his consort's brow 

Clear up propitious ; — the unlucky guest 

In silence dines, and early shrinks away. 

I well remember, when a child, the awe 

This day struck into me ; for then the maids — 

I scarce knew why — looked cross, and drove me from them j 

Nor soft caress could I obtain, nor hope 

Usual indulgences — jelly or creams, 

Relic of costly suppers, and set by 

For me, their petted one ; or buttered toast, 

When butter was forbid ; or thrilling tale 

Of ghost, or witch, or murder : so I went 

And sheltered me beside the parlor fire : 

There my dear grandmother, eldest of forms, 

Tended the little ones, and watched from harm, 

Anxiously fond, though oft her spectacles 

With elfin cunning hid, and oft the pins 

Drawn from her ravelled stockings, might have soured 



MRS. EARBAULD, 181 

One less indulgent. 

At intervals my mother's voice was heard, 

Urging despatch : briskly the work went on, 

All hands employed to wash, to rinse, to wring, 

To fold, and starch, and clap, and iron, and plait. 

Then would I sit me down, and ponder much 

Why washings were. Sometimes through hollow bowl 

Of pipe amused we blew, and sent aloft 

The floating bubbles ; little dreaming then 

To see, Montgolfier, thy silken ball 

Ride buoyant through the clouds — so near approach 

The sports of children and the toils of men. 

Earth, air, and sky, and ocean, hath its bubbles, 

And verse is one of them — this most of all." 




vi.— 16 



MADAME DE GENLIS 



This celebrated writer, whose maiaen name was 
Stephanie Felicite Ducrest de St. Aubin, has left a 
voluminous memoir of her life and times, written at 
the age of eighty, which is interesting for the portraits 
of celebrated characters, in which it abounds, as well 
as the delineations it affords of her education, her feel- 
ings, and her experience. Of this we have made the 
following abstract, generally in her own words, which 
will present the leading incidents of her eventful 
career : — 

" I was born," says she, " on the 25th of January, 
1746, on a little estate in Burgundy, near Autun, 
called Champceri. I was born so small and so weakly 
that they would not venture to put me in clothes ; and, 
a few moments after my birth, I was on the point of 
losing my life. I had been placed in a down pillow, 
of which, to keep me warm, the two sides were folded 
over me and fastened with a pin ; and, thus wrapped 
up, I was laid upon an arm-chair in the room. The 
judge of the district, who was almost blind, came to 
pay his visit of compliment to jmy father ; and as, in 
his country fashion, he separated his huge flaps to sit 
down, some one saw that he was going to place him- 



MADAME DE GENUS, 183 

self in the arm-chair where I was. Luckily, he was 
prevented from sitting down, and I escaped being 
crushed to death. 

" I experienced in my childhood a series of unfor- 
tunate accidents. At eighteen months old, I fell into 
a pond, out of which I was extricated with great dif- 
ficulty : at the age of five, I had a fall, and received a 
severe wound on the head : as a great deal of blood 
flowed from it, it was thought unnecessary to bleed 
me ; but a deposit, formed in the head, burst at the 
ear after forty days, and, contrary to expectation, I was 
saved. A short time afterwards, I fell into the kitchen 
fire : this accident did not injure my face, but there 
are to this day two marks of it on my body. Thus 
often was endangered, in its earliest years, that life 
which was afterwards to prove so checkered. 

" My father sold the estate of Champceri when 1 
was two years old. He had a house at Cosne, to 
which he removed, and passed three years there. 
The recollection of that house, of its superb garden, 
and beautiful terrace, upon the Loire, and of the 
chateau of Mienne, a league from Cosne, where we 
went so often, remains indelibly engraved on my 
memory. Passing by that road, thirty-five years 
after, I instantly recognized the chateau, though I 
was but five years old when we quitted Cosne. My 
father purchased the marquisate of St. Aubin, an estate 
most desirable from its situation, its extent, and its 
titular and seigniorial rights. I have never thought, 
without a feeling of tenderness, of this spot, once so 
dear to me, in which six years of innocence and hap- 
piness glided away. 



184 MADAME DE GENLJS. 

" When we were once fixed at St. Aubin, my educa- 
tion began to be attended to. Mademoiselle Urgon, 
the village schoolmistress, taught me to read. Having 
an excellent memory, I learnt with great facility ; and 
at the end of six or seven months, I read with ease. 
I was brought up with a brother fifteen months younger 
than myself, of whom I was exceedingly fond ; with 
the exception of the hour set apart for reading, we 
were allowed to play together all day long. We 
passed part of the day in the court-yard, or in the 
garden ; and in the evening we played in the drawing- 
room. 

" I was sLx years old when my brother was sent to 
Paris, to the famous academy of M. Bertrand, the 
most virtuous and best instructor of his time. It was 
he who invented the method of learning to spell in six 
weeks, by means of boxes full of counters. Two or 
three months after the departure of my brother, my 
mother made a journey to Paris, and took me with 
her. 

" I was not much pleased with Paris, and, for the first 
few days of my stay there, I regretted St. Aubin bit- 
terly. I had two teeth pulled out ; my clothes pinched 
me terribly ; my feet were imprisoned in tight shoes, 
with which it was impossible for me to walk ; I had a 
multitude of curl papers put on my head ; and I wore 
a hoop, for the first time in my life. In order to get 
rid of my country attitudes, I had an iron collar put 
on my neck, and, as I squinted a little at times, I was 
obliged to put on goggles as soon as I woke in the 
morning; and these I wore four hours. I was, more- 
over, not a little surprised when they talked of giving 



MADAME DE GENLIS. 185 

me a master to teach me what I thought I knew well 
enough already — to walk. Beside all this, I was 
forbidden to run, to leap, or ask questions. 

"All these painful constraints made such an im- 
pression on me, that I have never forgotten them. 
I have since faithfully depicted them in a little comedy 
called 4 The Dove.' But a great ceremony, and the 
fine entertainments which followed it, soon made me 
forget my little griefs. I had only been privately 
christened ; I was now baptized in public ; my aunt, 
Madame de Bellevau, was my godmother, and M. 
Bouret, the farmer-general, my godfather. I received 
some splendid presents ; and I had, besides, plenty of 
sweetmeats and playthings, and I soon recovered my 
good-humor. I was taken also to the opera, which 
delighted me beyond measure. 

44 My father had the utmost affection for me, but he 
did not interfere with my education in any point but 
one ; he wished to make me a woman of firm mind, 
and I was born with numberless little antipathies. I 
had a horror of all insects, particularly of spiders and 
toads. I was also afraid of mice, and he made me feed 
and bring up one. I loved my father to excess, and 
he had such an influence over me, that I never dared 
to disobey him. He would frequently oblige me to 
catch spiders with my fingers, and to hold toads in my 
hands, and, at such times, though I felt as if the blood 
had forsaken my veins, I was forced to obey. These 
trials proved clearly to me that toads are not venom- 
ous; but they powerfully contributed to weaken my 
nerves, and have only augmented the antipathies which 
they were intended to remove. They have, however, 
16* 



186 MADAME DE GENLIS. 

served to give me a habit of self-command, which of 
itself is a great benefit. 

" So passed several years. Mademoiselle de Mars, 
a young woman from Brittany, had now the sole direc- 
tion of my studies, and she gave me also lessons in 
singing, and on the harpsichord. I became attached to 
her from the first, and passed nearly all my time with 
her. I made great progress in my music, and we 
rehearsed a great many little plays for our amusement. 
Much applause was bestowed upon my performances, 
except by Mademoiselle de Mars, who generally only 
praised me for what belonged to my heart or character. 
I led a charming life : in the morning I played on the 
harpsichord ; afterwards I studied my parts ; then I 
took my lesson in dancing and fencing, and then read 
till dinner. After dinner, we read pious books, and 
afterwards spent our time in amusements and walking 

" I will here give the history of what a woman never 
forgets — the first passion she inspires. I was but a 
child of eleven years and nine months, and very small 
of my age ; besides, I had a face and features so deli- 
cate, that those who saw me for the first time never 
supposed me older than eight or nine, at furthest ; yet 
a young man of eighteen became desperately in love 
with me — the son of Dr. Pinot, one of the first phy- 
sicians at the baths of Bourbon-Lancey. He had per- 
formed parts in our plays for two years. 

" None of us suspected his folly, and certainly I had 
not the slightest idea of it ; when, one morning, after 
a rehearsal, the young man came up to me, and, seizing 
the moment when I was standing separate from the 
other actors in the side scene, and with an air of wild- 



MADAME DE GENLIS. 187 

ness in his looks, gave me a note, begging me, in a low 
tone, to read it, and let no one see it. I took the note, 
though much surprised, and he left me. Mademoiselle 
de Mars soon after joined me. I put the note in my 
pocket, and we went up stairs to our room. I hesi- 
tated about showing her my note, as I had been 
charged so strongly to show it to no one ; but to keep 
a secret with the friend I loved so dearly weighed 
heavily upon my conscience ; at the same time, my 
curiosity was extreme. 

" At last, Mademoiselle de Mars left me. I ran into 
my cabinet, locked the door, and read the note, which 
contained a serious declaration of love. My first 
movement was to be excessively shocked that the son 
of a physician — a person of no rank — should pre- 
sume to talk of love to me. I went immediately and 
showed the note to my friend, who desired me to 
carry it to my mother, which I did. The young man 
was reprimanded by his father, as he deserved to be ; 
and he felt so much chagrin on the occasion, that he 
enlisted in the army, and left the place. I afterwards 
heard of him as having obtained his discharge, and 
that he was married and happy, and an excellent 
young man. 

" Two months after this romantic flight, we went to 
Paris. I confess, to my shame, that I' quitted Burgun- 
dy without regret ; for childhood loves and requires 
change. At Paris we found my aunt, the Countess de 
Bellevau, and after a short time we took up our abode 
with her. At her house I saw the celebrated author M. 
Marmontel. He came to read her his 4 Tales.' I was 
present at the reading of one, called, I think, ' The 



188 



MADAME DE GENLIS. 



Self-styled Philosopher,' in which a fat president's 
wife, begrimmed with snuff, leads about in triumph this 
pretended sage, with a rose-colored ribbon. Though 
but twelve years old, I thought this story dull and 
absurd, and I thought rightly. The author was far 
from supposing that the little girl then before him 
would one day write a critique on these tales, which 
should throw him into transports of rage. 

" At the close of the winter, we went to a country- 
house of my aunt's, which had a delightful garden 
close to the forest of Vincennes. My brother, my 
two cousins, and myself, performed little pieces, and 
we had many little fetes at which my brother and 
myself sung duets. He was by no means as remark- 
able a child as I was : he was shy, awkward, and of 
an inconceivable simplicity : he had requested my 
father in vain to let him use a gun ; he was always 
told that he must first acquire a knowledge of fencing, 
for which he had not the slightest taste : he therefore 
adopted the following expedient : he loaded a gun, 
shut himself up in his room, and, in order to fire with- 
out making a noise, he bethought him of thrusting the 
barrel of the gun under the mattress of the bed. He 
then fired in this prudent manner, set fire to the bed, 
and was himself knocked down by the rebound. The 
family hastily assembled, and discovered with sur- 
prise this singular invention. The next summer we 
spent at Passy, and in October returned to Paris. 

" When I was fourteen years old, my father left us for 
St. Domingo. On his return, he was taken prisoner by 
the English, with all he possessed. He was conducted 
to Lanceston, a seaport town in England, where lie 



MADAME DE GENLIS. 189 

found many French prisoners of war, and, among 
others, a young man, whose handsome face, talents, 
and accomplishments, inspired him with the most lively 
interest : this was the Comte de Genlis, who, in re- 
turning from Pondicherry, where he had commanded 
a regiment during five years, had been carried to 
Canton, in China. Here he passed five months, and 
was thence taken to Lanceston. 

" The Comte de Genlis had served in the navy from 
the age of fourteen ; he had covered himself with 
glory in the famous action of M. d'Ache ; he was then 
a lieutenant, and scarcely twenty. Out of twenty-two 
officers, he was the only one who survived : all the 
others were killed. M. de Genlis was covered with 
wounds, of which one remained open for eight years 
and a half. This combat gained him the rank of cap- 
tain, and the cross of St. Louis. M. d'Ache took off 
his own to give it to him, on board of the vessel, the 
very day of the action, saying that he was sure the court 
would not disavow what he had done. The Comte de 
Genlis conducted himself with equal valor at Pondi- 
cherry. As soon as he returned to France, his uncle, 
M. de Puisieux, made him quit the navy, and enter into 
the land service, with the rank of colonel of grena- 
diers. 

" While he was at Lanceston, he became very inti- 
mate with my father, who always carried a box, on 
which was my portrait in the act of playing the harp : 
this picture struck M. de Genlis, who made many in- 
quiries about me, and believed all that was said by my 
father, who thought me faultless. 

"The English had left my father my portrait, my 



190 MADAME DE GENUS. 

letters, and those of my mother, which spoke of nothing 
but my successes and my talents. The count read 
these, and they made a profound impression upon him. 
His uncle, who was then minister for foreign affairs, 
soon obtained his liberty, and he promised to do all in 
his power to obtain that of my father. As soon as he 
arrived in Paris, he waited, on my mother, to deliver 
some letters from my father ; at the same time, he 
earnestly solicited his exchange, and in three weeks 
my father arrived in Paris. Not long after, being 
seized with a malignant fever, he died in the flower 
of his age. I experienced at his loss the most pro- 
found grief I had ever felt. 

" I will now speak of an old friend of my father's — 
the Baron d'Andlau. He came often to visit us ; he was 
more than sixty, generous and kind. He discovered 
the greatest friendship for me, and I was so much the 
more touched with these marks of his affection, that I 
attributed them to the remembrance he had preserved 
of my father. But, at last, he made me understand his 
real sentiments by the most singular declaration of love 
that was ever made. He sent me, by his valet, a huge 
packet, containing his genealogy at full length, which 
he entreated me to examine with attention ; but all my 
application in this way rendered me by no means 
favorable to his hopes. The same day, he came 
solemnly to demand my heart and hand, and was ex- 
tremely surprised to find that his superb parchments 
had produced so little effect upon my mind. My 
mother, however, desired me to reflect upon his pro- 
posal, stating that he was rich and of high birth ; but I 
m*mly persisted in my refusal, and there was no more 



MADAME DE GENLIS. 191 

said upon the subject. He did not discontinue his 
visits, but paid attention only to my mother, and to 
such good purpose, that, eighteen months after, he 
married her ; and 1 was much better pleased to have 
him for a father-in-law than a husband. 

"Not long after this event, my destiny was fixed 
for life. T was secretly married to M. de Genlis. 
He was then twenty-seven, and, having neither father 
nor mother, could dispose of himself as he pleased. 
Eight days after my marriage, we went to live with 
my aunt, Madame de Sercey, who lived in the Rue de 
Rohan. Here our marriage was published, and it 
formed the subject of public conversation for several 
days. We then took up our residence at the chateau 
of Genlis, belonging to my brother-in-law, the Marquis 
de Genlis, where our time passed in a succession of 
fetes and entertainments. 

" My brother passed six weeks with us at this time. 
He had just been received into the engineers, and had 
undergone his examination in Bezout, with the utmost 
credit to himself: in fact, he showed a decided genius 
for mathematics. I was transported with joy at seeing 
him again : he was handsome and ingenuous, and he 
had a sort of childish gayety, which suited me exactly. 
M. de Genlis made him a present of every thing which 
could be useful to him in a garrison in which he was 
to remain a long time. He went to Mezieres : we 
promised to write regularly to each other, and we kept 
our word. 

" On the 4th of September, when I was nineteen 
years of age, my little Caroline was born, beautiful as 
an angel. How many sentiments, till then unknown, 



192 MADAME DE GENLIS. 

sprung up in my breast with the blessing of being a 
mother ! Six weeks after, I was presented at court by 
Madame Puisieux. She obliged me to wear a great 
deal of rouge and powder, two things which I detested ; 
I wore a high ruff, and a large hoop and train. My 
presentation went off well, and the day was well 
chosen, as there were a great many ladies at this levee. 
Louis XV. spoke a good deal to Madame de Puisieux, 
and said many flattering things about me. Though no 
longer young, he appeared to me to be very handsome : 
his eyes were of a deep blue, c royal blue eyes,' as 
the Prince of Conti said ; and his look was the most 
imposing that can be imagined. 

"In speaking he had a laconic manner, and a partic- 
ular brevity of expression, in which, however, there 
was nothing harsh or disobliging ; in short, there was 
about his whole person something majestic and royal, 
which completely distinguished him from all other 
men. A handsome exterior in a king is by no means 
a matter of indifference ; the people and the great 
bulk of the nation can see but by stealth, as it were, the 
great potentates of the earth ; they regard them with 
eager curiosity ; the impression they receive from that 
examination is indelible, and exercises the greatest in- 
fluence over all their sentiments. A noble air, a frank 
expression of countenance, a serene aspect, an agree- 
able smile, mild and polished manners, are precious 
gifts to princes, which education may confer but to a 
certain degree. 

" About this time, I wrote a little novel, called the 
1 Dangers of Celebrity,' the manuscript of which I 
afterwards lost. We soon returned to Genlis, and I 



MADAME DE GENLIS. 193 

recommenced my pursuits with fresh ardor. I was 
very happy at Genlis, especially after my brother- 
in-law's marriage to a most charming woman. The 
only property which M. de Genlis then had was 
the estate of Sissy, five leagues from Genlis : it was 
worth ten thousand francs a year, which was equal 
to twenty thousand now : we did not spend five thou- 
sand out of this, so that we were completely at our 
ease : and M. de Genlis, who was full of goodness and 
humanity, did a vast deal of good in the village : my 
brother-in-law and his wife were also extremely gen- 
erous, and were, in return, adored by the peasants. 

" We passed the next winter at Paris. I was then 
twenty. I went once a week to dine with my aunt, 
Madame de Montesson, or with my grandmother, the 
vlarchioness de la Haie. 1 saw this year, 1766, the 
Abbe Delille, who had just published his beautiful 
translation of Virgil's ; Georgics.' He was at that time 
twenty-seven years of age. He visited me several 
times ; he was then engaged with his translation of the 
'iEneid.' I thought him ingenuous and amiable ; he 
had a face of certain intelligent ugliness, which it was 
amusing to examine. At this time, he recited verses 
in a manner that was quite charming, and which be- 
longed exclusively to himself. 

"I went, in the spring, to the Isle Adam, in the Seine, 
where the Prince of Conti resided. He was the only 
one of the princes of the blood who had a taste for 
literature and the sciences, or who could speak in 
public. He was the most magnificent of our princes. 
Each lady that visited him had a carriage and horses 
at her command, and was at liberty to ask parties to 
M vi.— 17 



194 . MADAME DE GENLIS. 

dine daily in her own apartments. Ceremony was 
reserved for the evening, but during the day you 
enjoyed perfect liberty. We remained here, in the 
midst of the most charming society, six weeks. 

" I passed the next winter at Paris, in a round of 
dissipation; private balls, dinners, suppers, occupied 
most of my time. I amused myself also at home by 
performing with my friends little operas and comedies, 
which were always terminated by a concert, which 
was led by the famous Cramer. It was at this time 
that I wrote my first historical novel, founded on an 
anecdote in the life of Tamerlane. I read also, with 
inexpressible delight, some of the works of Pascal, 
Bossuet, and Massillon. The latter entirely entranced 
me. The majestic flow of his eloquence, and the 
sweetness and harmony of his language, have some- 
thing about them which is truly divine. I also read 
with admiration the l Natural History ' of M. de Buf- 
fon : the perfection of his style enchanted me, and I 
studied it intensely. 

" J. J. Rousseau being now in Paris, I had a great 
desire to see so celebrated a man. I must confess 
thafnothing ever appeared to me so odd and fantas- 
tical as his figure and appearance, which I merely 
considered as a masquerade. His coat, his marr on- 
colored stockings, his little round wig, his whole cos- 
tume, his manners and deportment, were to me per- 
fectly ludicrous. Yet I never knew a literary charac- 
ter more agreeable, or with less affectation. His eyes 
were small, and, though deep set, were very piercing. 
He had a most agreeable smile, full of mildness and 
finesse. He talked admirably of music. I found 



MADAME DE GENLIS. 195 

afterwards that he was filled with caprice and morbid 
sensibility. He never accepted favors, and was 
offended by any offers of pecuniary aid. 

" I must mention an extraordinary individual whom 
I constantly saw at M. de Puisieux's — the Abbe 
Raynal. Never did there exist a man of talent so 
insupportably obstinate, so disputatious, or so unami- 
able in society. I likewise saw the young prince of 
Sweden, Gustavus III. He was agreeable and accom- 
plished. 

" For her own private interest, my aunt, Madame 
de Montesson, was extremely desirous that I should 
enter the Palais Royal, as lady of honor. M. de 
Genlis cared little about it, and declared that he would 
not consent to let me have the place, unless he was 
attached to the court himself. He therefore asked 
and obtained the post of captain of the guards of the 
Duke of Chartres, a station worth six thousand francs, 
while mine was worth four. The society of the 
Palais Royal was then the most brilliant and witty in 
Paris. There was also no want of books, and I made 
constant additions to my knowledge of French litera- 
ture and history. I served also as the secretary of 
the Duchess of Chartres. I continued to write com- 
edies, and cultivated music with the same ardor as 
before. I was constantly in the habit of making 
extracts, in small paper books, of conversations with 
persons that were entertaining and instructive. I had 
made, when I left the Palais Royal, a selection of 
poetry, of one thousand verses, of various authors, 
some being of very ancient date. 

u One day, when I was in the Garden of Plants, 1 had 



196 MADAME DE GENUS. 

the good fortune to meet M. de Buffon, who received 
me with great cordiality and simplicity. I afterwards 
met him frequently, and we spoke of nothing but 
literature. 

" In 1774, Louis XV. died, and the unfortunate Louis 
XVI. mounted the throne. In the course of a journey 
which I took on account of ill health . the next year, I 
went to Ferney to visit M. de Voltaire. All the busts 
and portraits I have seen of him are exceedingly like 
him ; but no artist has fully expressed the eyes. 
They were the liveliest I ever saw ; but they also had 
something indescribably soft and tender in their ex- 
pression. His laugh and bitter smile greatly altered 
the expression of his face. When neither religion 
nor his enemies were spoken of, his conversation was 
simple and pleasing ; but when he was opposed in the 
least, his manner became warm and bitter. 

" About this time, I wrote many little comedies for 
my daughters to perform, which were very successful. 
I received complimentary letters from M. d'Alembert 
and M. de Marmontel. Some time afterwards, I had 
rather an intimate acquaintance with M. Gibbon, au- 
thor of the l Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.' 
M. de Voltaire came to Paris soon after this period. I 
went to see him, but found him quite broken down and 
dejected. He died in 1778. 

M The time I passed at the Palais Royal was at once 
the most brilliant and unhappy part of my life ; I was 
in the zenith of my talents, and at the age when a 
woman joins to the freshness and graces of youth all 
the accomplishments which habits of intercourse with 
the world can bestow. I was admired, praised, flat- 



MADAME DE GEN LIS. 197 

tered, and courted. Every Saturday, I had a concert ; 
every Tuesday, a pleasant circle of acquaintances met 
at my house, and another day was set apart for con- 
versation parties ; in short, I was constantly occupied 
either in society, reading, or forming plans of works, 
since completed. I was generally beloved in the great 
world. So much for the brilliant side of my situation. 
But the malignity and hypocrisy of several persons 
belonging to the Palais Royal ; the constantly renewed 
vexations ; the unlooked-for calumnies, and the pre- 
tended reconciliations of which I have been so fre- 
quently the dupe ; the injustice and the slanders ; — all 
caused me the bitterest grief, which I was forced to 
conceal, for my situation obliged me to appear contin- 
ually in society. 

" The Duke of Chartres was very desirous to succeed 
to the place of grand admiral, then held by his father- 
in-law, the Duke of Penthievre : to promote this object 
he proposed making a cruise at sea. He was to em- 
bark at Toulon, and persuaded the Duchess of Chartres 
to accompany him so far ; and I even inspired her with 
a desire to see Italy. In going there, the duchess only 
took with her the young Countess of Rully, M. de 
Genlis, an esquire, and myself, two waiting maids, a 
valet, and three footmen. We passed through all the 
southern provinces, only stopping to attend the charm- 
ing fetes, which were every where given to the prince 
and princess. Our journey passed off gayly and with- 
out accident, and we had some curious personal ad- 
ventures. The duchess met with the utmost admira- 
tion throughout Italy for the dignity and sweetness of 
her manners. 

" At Venice we saw the famous entertainment of the 



198 MADAME DE GENLIS, 

Bucentaur, or wedding the Adriatic ; but the city that I 
saw with the most enthusiasm was Rome. My emotion 
was so great on entering it that I embraced all in the 
carriage. I made many excursions, visited the Colis- 
seum, and went daily to wonder and pray at St. Peter's. 
At Naples we were presented at court, and splendid 
fetes were given to the Duchess of Chartres. 

" After our return, I recommenced my little plays with 
the same success as before. Indeed, I was prevailed 
upon to publish them for the benefit of the Chevalier de 
Quiessat, who had been fined and imprisoned. M. de 
Genlis undertook the editorship of the works, which 
made a large octavo volume. The Duke and Duchess 
of Chartres gave a hundred Louis for two copies. 
The Prince of Conde paid fifty Louis for one copy, and 
the Count de Jardini, with whom I was unacquainted, 
paid three thousand francs for one. The net profits 
of the work were forty thousand francs, which effected 
the liberation of M. Quiessat. 

" When I published my first volume of the 4 Theatre 
<P Education J there was every where felt for me a sort 
of enthusiasm ; many persons sought my acquaint- 
ance, and among others M. de la Harpe. It was im- 
mediately translated into all the European languages. 
All the journalists praised my work excessively; in 
short, no one ever entered on a literary career with 
more honor and glory. 

"The Duchess of Chartres having become the 
mother of two infant princesses, I cultivated my talents 
with new ardor, in the prospect of benefiting them. 
I had determined to educate them within a convent. 
Accordingly a pavilion, called 4 Belle Chasse,' was 



MADAME DE GENLIS, 199 

erected in Paris for our residence, communicating with 
the convent by a long arbor covered with vines. My 
establishment was really charming. The furniture was 
extremely simple : it was to be mine after the education 
of the children was completed. The usual salary 
of the governess was six thousand francs ; the duke 
offered me twelve thousand ; which, however, I refused. 
I conducted the mansion of ' Belle Chasse ' and the 
education of the princes and princesses with great 
ceremony, and gained the reputation of being a good 
housewife — a kind of praise so reluctantly accorded to 
those women who love reading and cultivate literature 
and the fine arts. 

" During the first eighteen months of my residence 
at i Belle Chasse,' I published successively the other 
volumes of my i Theatre of Education.' I led a de- 
licious life at 8 Belle Chasse,' and received every 
Saturday my acquaintances from six to half past nine, 
and my intimate friends from eight till ten in the 
evening. I had obtained permission to have my 
mother and children with me ; and the inexpressible 
satisfaction of attending to my mother's comforts was 
my sweetest occupation. 

" The extreme beauty of my eldest daughter, her tal- 
ents, her charming disposition, and my place as lady 
of honor, which remained vacant for her, caused her 
hand to be sought by a great number of persons. She 
was a good musician ; she drew figures in a fine style ; 
she painted admirably in all styles ; and I never knew 
any one who danced so well as she did. She was 
only fourteen. I at last determined upon marrying 
her. The choice of M. de Genlis fell upon a Bel- 



200 MADAME DE GENLIS. 

gian, the Marquis of Becelaer de Lawoestine : he was 
an only son, and of high birth, and would eventually 
inherit the title of grandee. M. de Genlis gave him 
his place of captain of the guards, and my furnished 
apartments at the Palais Royal, all of which formed a 
very comfortable establishment for the young couple. 
A week before the marriage, the Duke and Duchess of 
Chartres sent me magnificent bracelets and a superb 
aigrette of diamonds for my daughter. 

" I was the first governess of princes, in France, who 
adopted the custom of teaching children the living 
languages by talking with them. I gave my young 
princesses an English maid -servant, and another who 
understood Italian thoroughly, so that, at the age of 
five, they understood three languages, and spoke 
English and French perfectly well. I bethought my- 
self of placing a young English girl of their own age 
with them. Accordingly the Duke of Chartres wrote to 
London to beg a person of the name of Forth to send 
him one. He succeeded in accomplishing my wish : 
the little girl was sent, and was remarkable for her 
graceful manners, her mildness, and her beauty. Her 
name was Nancy Syms ; I called her Pamela ; and, as 
she did not know a word of French, she contributed 
greatly to familiarize the little princesses with the 
English language. 

" My tranquillity was now disturbed by a melan- 
choly event — the illness and death. of the eldest of the 
princesses, Mademoiselle d'Orleans. The princess who 
remained took the name of Orleans ; she was then five 
years old. No words can describe her grief at the 
death of her sister ; her affliction lasted more than 



MADAME DE GENLIS, 201 

two years. Often, when in my room, and appearing 
to play, she turned her back to me and wept. 

" The duke was sedulously engaged in endeavoring 
to find a tutor for his sons. The eldest, the Duke of 
Valois,* was then eight years old. He consulted me 
on the selection of a fit person. I proposed several, 
among others M. de Schomberg ; but, none of them 
meeting his favor, I said, with a laugh, " Well, then, 
what do you think of me ? " " Why not ? " replied he, 
seriously : " the thing is decided ; you must be their 
tutor." I confess that the manner of the duke im- 
pressed me deeply with the thought of doing some- 
thing so glorious to myself, and so unprecedented in 
the history of education. The arrangement was ac- 
cordingly made, and it was agreed that I should be 
the absolute mistress of their education. The Duke 
of Chartres offered me twenty thousand francs, which 
I refused; and that I gratuitously educated three 
princes is an undisputed fact. The Duchess of Char- 
tres was delighted with the plan ; and I may truly say 
it was generally approved of. 

" About this time, I published i Adele et Theodore.'' 
This work at once insured the suffrages of the public, 
and the irreconcilable hatred of all the so-called phi 
losophers and their partisans. 

" Having chosen M. Lebrun as under-governor foi 
the young princes, I gave him private instructions rel 
ative to their education. He kept a daily journal of 
their studies and behavior, which I commented upoi 
in the evening. I thought this journal would be in 

* Now Louis Philippe, king of France. See note, p. 212. 



202 MADAME DE GENLIS. 

teresting to the duke and duchess ; but they always 
refused to read it, saying that they confided entirely in 
me. I found some very bad habits in my pupils. 
When I read history to them, the Duke of Valois 
yawned and stretched himself, sometimes lying down 
on the sofa, and putting his feet upon the table. I re- 
proved him for this in such a manner that he felt no 
resentment. As soon as the sense of the thing was 
clearly presented to him, he listened with attention. 

" Every Saturday we received company at c Belle 
Chasse.' I established this rule to form the princes in 
politeness, and to accustom them to the habit of lis- 
tening to conversation. When Mademoiselle Orleans 
was seven years old, she played on the harp in a sur- 
prising manner. I can truly say, that I never knew a 
single defect in this princess. She possessed all the 
virtues. The Duke of Montpensier, the second son, 
had a feeling and generous heart, a natural elegance 
of person, and something romantic about his face, dis- 
position, and manners. The youngest of the three 
princes, the Count of Beaujolais, was equally charm- 
ing in face, talent, and disposition. Even his faults 
were amiable. We thought that he resembled Henry 
IV. To continue the portraits of 'Belle Chasse,' I 
must speak of Pamela. She had a beautiful face ; 
she never told a single falsehood ; she ran like 
Atalanta, but her mind was lazy to a degree ; she had 
no memory, and was very volatile. 

" The Duke of Orleans purchased St. Leu, a charm- 
ing residence, where we passed eight months of the 
year. There was a fine garden, in which my pupils 
dug with their own hands. The gardener was a 



MADAME DE GENLIS. 203 

German, and only^ spoke to them in German; in our 
walks we spoke English, and we supped in Italian. I 
invented little games, and dramatic pieces for repre- 
sentation, and we performed historic pictures. In the 
winter, at Paris, I continued to make every moment 
useful. I had a turning machine put in my chamber, 
and all the children learned to turn. We also made 
morocco portfolios, baskets, artificial flowers, and the 
Duke of Valois and the Duke of Montpensier made a 
table with drawers for a poor woman of St. Leu. 

" Upon the death of his father, the old Duke of Or- 
leans, the Duke of Chartres took the title of Orleans, 
and my eldest pupil that of Chartres. 

" Amidst all my engagements, I continued my private 
studies with ardor, and soon published my ' Veillees 
du Chateau.'' I also wrote my » Palace of Truth,' and 
the ' Two Reputations,' at this time. The former work 
was translated, in the course of a year, into all the 
European languages. My first work upon religion, 
which I wrote for my pupils, completed the degree of 
horror in which I was held by the philosophers. It 
was entitled l Religion considered as the only Basis of 
Happiness and true Philosophy.' While writing this 
work, I experienced the greatest misfortune of my life. 
My eldest daughter died, at the age of twenty-one. 
She expired with the calmness and piety of an angel. 
Being unable to find any relief from my affliction, I 
set about finishing my work on religion ; and, on look- 
ing at the place where I left off, I found it was the 
chapter ' On Christian Resignation.' 

" Grief had so great an effect upon me, that my 
physicians directed me to go to Spa. Thither the 



204 MADAB1E DE GENLIS. 

duke and duchess and my pupils accompanied me. 
This took place in July, 1787. 

44 It was now becoming the fashion to ridicule the 
monarchy, and preparations were making for the 
revolution. I was of no party but that of religion. I 
desired to see the reformation of certain abuses, and I 
saw with joy the demolition of the Bastile. It is 
impossible to give an idea of the sight ; this redoubt- 
able fortress was covered with men, women, and chil- 
dren, all working with unequalled ardor. 

" As soon as the Duke of Chartres had attained his 
seventeenth year, the Duke of Orleans informed me 
that his education was at an end ; but the Duke of 
Chartres was so attached to me that he said he would 
come daily till he was eighteen, to take his lessons as 
usual. He never failed to do this, which was admi- 
rable in a young prince who had now become his own 
master. 

" During my residence at ' Belle Chasse,' my second 
daughter, Pulcherie, married the Viscount de Valence. 
She was seventeen years old, beautiful and accom- 
plished. Soon after this event, M. de Genlis came into 
possession of the property of the Marechale d'Etree, 
On finding himself suddenly possessed of one hundred 
thousand francs a year, he urged me to quit ' Belle 
Chasse,' and reside with him. But I could not support 
the idea that any one else should finish the education 
of my pupils, and carry from me all the honors. I 
have since bitterly repented this failure in my duty. 
M. de Genlis now took the name of Marquis de Sillery. 

" Having always felt an extreme desire of travelling 
in England, I separated from my pupils for the first 



MADAME DE GENUS. 205 

time. My journey was marked by many distinctions. 
I received proofs of esteem from many distinguished 
persons — Fox, Sheridan, Burke, Miss Burney, &c. 
The Prince of Wales invited me to an entertainment, 
and was full of attention to me. I passed three days 
at the country-house of the celebrated Mr. Burke ; 
here I met Sir Joshua Reynolds. I dined with the 
queen at Windsor. Lord Mansfield, the celebrated 
English judge, came to see me, and gave me a beautiful 
moss-rose tree. Horace Walpole invited me to break- 
fast in his Gothic priory. After having visited Wales, 
I returned at length to France. I arrived at St. Leu, 
after an absence of six weeks, to the great joy of my 
pupils, as well as my own. 

" A short time after, the marriage of Mademoiselle 
d'Orleans with the Duke of Angouleme was resolved 
on. An interview took place between them at Ver- 
sailles, and the marriage was publicly talked of. The 
revolution, which suddenly burst upon us at this time, 
overthrew all our plans and projects. 

" I was soon called upon to feel the most heart- 
rending sorrow at the death of my mother, whom I 
tended during three whole days and nights, without 
ever going to bed, or leaving her for a moment. My 
pupils wished, of their own accord, to be present at the 
funeral, for they truly loved her, and joined most sin- 
cerely and affectionately in grief for her loss. 

" It now became obvious that a ^melancholy change 
had taken place in the conduct of the Duchess of 
Orleans to me, after twenty years of the warmest 
and closest intimacy. In consequence of this, I de- 
termined on retiring from her household altogether, 
vi.— 18 



206 MADAME DE GENLIS. 

My feelings were still more aggravated by the want of 
any specific charge, or any explanation on the part of 
the duchess. I wrote a letter to the duke, asking leave 
to resign my place ; but this he would not grant, 
promising to arrange affairs in a few days. In the 
interval, Mademoiselle, seeing me sorrowful and de- 
jected, perceived the plan I had in view. One day, 
she swooned away in the garden, and the consequence 
was, a promise from me, ' that I would not leave her 
of my own free will.' I then wrote a long explanatory 
letter to the duchess, using all possible arguments to 
induce her to restore me to her confidence. This she 
did not do, but consented to meet me as usual, and to 
allow her family to suppose the c difference ' between 
us adjusted : at the same time, she desired that not a 
word should pass between us relative to our misunder- 
standing. 

" I was meditating, one morning, upon this painful 
position of affairs, when the door opened, and the 
duchess appeared. She rushed in, bid me be quiet, 
drew a paper from her pocket, which she read in a 
loud voice and with great rapidity. The purport of 
this was, that I must withdraw immediately, and that 
in a private manner, to prevent unnecessary affliction 
to Mademoiselle ; if I did not do so, there was no 
public exposure I might not dread, and she would 
never see me again in the course of her life. After 
some expostulations with the duchess, who, I saw, was 
influenced by my enemies, I promised to do as she 
required. Before I left, I wrote three letters to Made- 
moiselle d'Orleans, to be given to her at different 
periods of the day. The duke felt the most profound 



MADAME DE GENLIS. 207 

chagrin, and, attributing all these troubles to the 
counsels of Madame de Chastelleux, desired her to 
seek some other abode. The consequence was, the 
duchess made a demand to be separated from her 
husband. 

"After my departure, I received letters from the 
duke, begging me to return to his daughter, as. he felt 
assured that her death would be the consequence of my 
continued absence. I accordingly returned, and found 
my dear pupil in a state that pierced me to the heart. 
My solicitude soon restored her to health, but my tran- 
quillity was forever lost. The cause of the sudden 
dislike of the duchess was evidently the difference of 
our political opinions. I never in my life interfered in 
political affairs, but I have at all times been monarch- 
ical, as all my works demonstrate. It is also true that 
I have always detested despotism, lettres de cachets, 
and arbitrary imprisonment. 

" After the flight of the king to Varennes, and his 
forced return to Paris, I was burning with a desire to 
leave France, and the duke at last gave me leave. The 
physicians ordered Mademoiselle to go to England, 
to take the Bath waters. We accordingly went there, 
and staid at that place two months. We then travelled 
through the English counties, visited the caverns of 
Derbyshire and the Isle of Wight. 

" The close of my stay in England w T as imbittered 
by the most mournful anticipations, for party spirit 
gave me every reason to fear the efforts and enemies 
of the house of Orleans, and I received anonymous 
letters of the most alarming nature. Among others 
was one which threatened to set fire to our house at 



208 MADAME DE GENUS, 

night. In September, 1792, while we were at Bury, 
in Suffolk, I learned by the French papers that a pow- 
erful party were desirous of bringing the king and queen 
to judgment. Immediately after the massacres in the 
prisons in the same month, I received a singular letter 
from the Duke of Orleans, telling me to return to 
France immediately with his daughter. I answered 
him that I would not do so, as it was absurd to choose 
such a period for her return. 

" My well-founded fears increasing daily, I met with 
several alarming adventures, which proved that I was 
an object of suspicion in France. In November, the 
Duke of Orleans again sent for his daughter. Upon 
this, I determined to take Mademoiselle back to France, 
deliver her up into her father's hands, give up my 
place as governess, and return immediately to London. 
We set out on our return, in November, for Dover. 
We had a stormy passage across the channel, landed, 
and proceeded rapidly to our residence in Paris. 
Here I found the Duke of Orleans, M. de Sillery, 
and some others. I delivered up Mademoiselle to her 
father, and told him my plan. The duke took me apart, 
and said, in a dejected manner, that, in consequence 
of my not returning when he sent the first time, his 
daughter, now fifteen, came under the new law, which 
placed her among the emigrants ; that the matter was 
not entirely arranged, but that his daughter must go to 
Tournay, in Belgium, for a short time. He urged me 
so vehemently to go with her, that I consented. 

"The same evening, M. Sillery took us to the 
theatre to dispel our melancholy ideas. At the plav 
was Lord Edward Fitzgerald, who became violently in 



MADAME DE GENLIS. 209 

love with Pamela, from her resemblance to a former 
object of his affection. The next day, finding myself 
alone with the duke, whose manner struck me as very 
alarming, I spoke some words to him, upon which he 
said, surlily, that he had declared in favor of the Jaco- 
bins. I remonstrated with him in vain. In the even- 
ing, I had a long conversation with M. de Sillery, and 
entreated him, with tears in my eyes, to leave France. 
But all my arguments were unavailing, and I left the 
next morning for Tournay, with the most mournful 
presages. 

" At the first post-house we found Lord Edward 
Fitzgerald, whose love for Pamela made him follow 
us to Tournay. We had scarcely reached the place, 
when he asked the hand of Pamela in marriage. I 
showed him the papers proving her to be the daughter 
of a man of high birth, of the name of Seymour. 
After having obtained the consent of his mother, the 
Duchess of Leinster, to the marriage, it was concluded ; 
and in two days the new-married couple set out for 
England. I felt great joy in seeing the fortunes of this 
beloved child so honorably secured. 

" Meanwhile, three weeks had elapsed without 
hearing from the duke. At last news came of the 
horrible catastrophe of the king's death. The Duke 
of Chartres, who joined us at Tournay, showed me a 
letter from his father, which began thus : 4 My heart is 
oppressed with sorrow ; but, for the interests of France 

and of liberty, I have thought it my duty ! ' &c. 

My unfortunate husband wrote at the same time, and 
sent me copies of his opinion at the king's trial. This 
was thus expressed : ' I do not vote for death, first 
n 18* 



^10 MADAME DE GENLIS, 

because the king does not merit it ; secondly, because 
we have no right to sit as his judges ; and, lastly, be- 
cause I consider his condemnation as the greatest 
political fault that can be committed.' The letter 
concluded thus : 1 1 am perfectly sure, then, in pro- 
nouncing this opinion, I have signed my death-warrant.' 

" Seeing that Belgium was about to fall into the 
hands of the Austrians, and that it would be impossible 
for us to fly either to France or to foreign countries, 
I had the most anxious desire to be recalled to my 
country. Hence I strongly solicited my return ; and 
I was informed, in March, 1793, that the Duke of 
Orleans was to obtain the recall of Mademoiselle, but 
that mine would be delayed. Whilst one day sitting 
in my room, M. Crepin, an army commissary, whom I 
had previously known, entered the room, and told me 
that the Austrians would be in Tournay the next day. 
Seeing my distress at this intelligence, he offered me 
an asylum at a farm of his near Valenciennes, so 
secluded that I might stay there for months in safety. 
I joyfully accepted his proposal, and we left Tournay 
in a few days. Circumstances, however, did not allow 
us to take advantage of this kind offer. We were sur- 
rounded by danger; troops marching in disorder, sol- 
diers making a tumultuous noise, filled us with terror. 
We stopped a short time at St. Amand, where arrests 
were constantly made, and all proved to me that the 
system of proscription was established. 

" Having providentially escaped from St. Amand, I 
immediately set off for Switzerland. After travelling 
seven days, we reached Schafhausen. My satisfac- 
tion on reaching a neutral territory was great. The 



MADAME DE GENLIS, 211 

Duke of Chartres joined us here. We soon after 
went to Zug, and took a small house, in a secluded sit- 
uation, on the banks of the lake, not far from the town. 
Here I wrote to the Duchess of Orleans, — for the duke 
was in prison, — and entreated her to send me orders 
respecting Mademoiselle d'Orleans as soon as possible ; 
but I received no answer. 

" We should have remained longer at Zug, but we 
became known, and the magistrates were reproached 
for having given us refuge ; we were therefore obliged 
to consult as to our future destination. We formed a 
thousand romantic projects, and abandoned them as 
fast as made. The Duke of Chartres insisted upon 
continuing with us, which made it impossible for us to 
remain unknown. I finally determined to write to 
M. de Montesquiou, who lived at Bremgarten, who was 
himself a refugee, and possessed great influence in 
Switzerland. I described to him the condition of my 
unfortunate pupils, and begged him to allow them an 
asylum in the convent, near the town. M. de Mon- 
tesquiou wrote me a most polite and obliging answer, 
and took upon himself to get Mademoiselle d'Orleans 
and myself into this convent, called St. Claire. The 
Duke of Chartres resolved to make a pedestrian tour 
through Switzerland, where he was taken for a Ger- 
man. How often, since my misfortunes, have I con- 
gratulated myself on the education I had given him, — 
on the languages I had taught him, — on having accus- 
tomed him to despise effeminacy, and habituate him- 
self to fatigue ! All that he was indebted for to the 
chance of birth and fortune he had lost ; and nothing 



212 MADAME DE GEN LIS, 

now remained to him but what he held from nature 
and from me.* 

" We entered the convent under feigned names. 
Mine was Madame Lenox, aunt of Mademoiselle 

* The Duke of Chartres, afterwards Duke of Orleans, and 
now Louis Philippe, king of the French, was born at Paris, 
October 6th, 1773. His education has been described in the 
preceding pages. In 1791, he served -in the army, and sub- 
sequently held various military stations, in which he displayed 
great gallantry. In 1793, having expressed his horror at the 
excesses of the revolution, a decree of arrest was levelled 
against him. To escape this, he went to Switzerland, where 
he met his sister and Madame de Genlis, as related. During 
his wanderings over this country, he had to contend with 
fatigue, poverty, and persecution. He travelled from place 
to place, often alone, and destitute of money. 

After the death of his father, Switzerland no longer became 
a safe place for him, and he went to Hamburg, to escape to 
America. But here his funds failed him, and he spent some 
time in travelling in Norway and Lapland, proceeding even 
to the North Cape. In September, 1796, he embarked for 
America, where he was joined by his brothers, the Duke of 
Montpensier and Count Beaujolais. They travelled through 
the country, though often distressed for the want of money. 
After various wanderings, they reached England. The Duke 
of Montpensier died in 1807, and the Count Beaujolais soon 
after. In November, 1809, Louis Philippe was married, at 
Palermo, to the Princess Amelia, daughter of the king of 
Sicily. On the restoration of the Bourbons in 1815, he re- 
turned to Paris, and inherited a large part of the immense 
wealth of his father. In 1830, he was elevated to the throne. 
His family presents a model of union, good morals, and do- 
mestic virtue, and he is himself one of the ablest of living 
sovereigns. If his character is in any considerable degree 
owing to his education, — and we cannot doubt that it is, — it 
furnishes an imperishable monument to the honor of Madame 
de Genlis. 



MADAME DE GENUS, 213 

Stuart, my sister's daughter. The duke then left us, 
and, after his journey through Switzerland, he entered 
the college of the Grisons incognito, as professor of 
mathematics. In this quiet of the convent, the health of 
Mademoiselle was nearly restored. While here came 
news of a horrid catastrophe, on November 9th, 1793, 
and I became ill I concealed from Mademoi- 
selle the death of her unfortunate father, but dressed 
her in mourning, as if for the queen of France.* 

" About this time, a violent dispute arose between the 
inhabitants of Bremgarten : two parties were formed, 
and an order was obtained, by people hostile to M. de 
Montesquiou, that all the French should leave the 
place. Hearing that the Princess of Conti, the aunt 
of Mademoiselle d'Orleans, was residing in Switzerland, 
Mademoiselle, at my urgent request, wrote to her to 
ask permission to join her. She received a very kind 
letter, saying that the princess would receive her niece. 
On the day before the carriage was sent to take her 

* The position of Madame de Genlis does not permit her to 
do justice to the character of the Duke of Orleans, which is 
one of the most infamous in history. He was born in 1747, 
and was descended from the Duke of Orleans, only brother of 
Louis XIV. In his youth he was distinguished for his licen- 
tiousness, and during the revolution he acquired an unfortu- 
nate notoriety. He joined the Jacobins, and cooperated with 
Robespierre, Marat, and Danton. He renounced his royal 
titles, and assumed that of M. Egalite. He voted for the 
death of his relative, Louis XVI., and was present at his exe- 
cution. But the storm he had assisted to raise was now 
directed against him. He was included in the general pro- 
scription of the Bourbons, and was guillotined November 6th, 
1793. His wife, who sustained an excellent character, re- 
turned to Paris after the restoration, and died in 1821, 



214 MADAME DE GENLIS= 

from me, my emotion was excessive. I determined 
to spare both of us the pain of this cruel separation. 
I accordingly shut myself in my room, at the arrival 
of the Countess de Pont, who was to take away my 
interesting charge, telling the servant to say that I had 
gone to some distance. 

" As the moment arrived for the departure, Made- 
moiselle d'Orleans came along my passage, and stopped 
before the door. I heard her sighs and lamentations. 
... I heard the carriage roll away ; and one must feel 
a mother's love, to conceive the emotions that over- 
powered me. I heard from her the next day, and I 
also wrote her my last letter of advice. Her depart- 
ure rendered the spot she had left completely hateful 
to me, and I most anxiously wished to leave the place. 
I had, besides, been cruelly persecuted since my resi- 
dence there. I was often attacked in the most absurd 
manner in the newspapers. One of them stated that 
I, loaded with favors by the court of France, had 
been concerned in all the intrigues of the revolution. 
Not knowing how to get passports I at last thought of 
writing to Dr. Hoze, a skilful physician, who lived at 
Bremgarten. He kindly sent me both passports and a 
servant to accompany me. I departed, promising the 
nuns to return and spend the remainder of my life 
with them. We travelled night and day, till we 
arrived at Utrecht. From this place, I got into a 
wretched post-wagon, with a man who was going to 
Hamburg. We reached that place July 23d, 1794. 
Hearing of an inn kept by a person of the name of 
Plock, I went there, and had the fortune not to meet 
with anv emigrants, Here I staid nine months, in 



MADAME DE GENLIS. 215 

complete incognito, and in very agreeable society. 
It was here that I enjoyed the first consolation I 
received since my misfortunes — here that I learned 
several most important events — the fall of Robes- 
pierre, and the peace concluded with Russia. 

" I now went to board with M. de Valence at his 
country-house, five leagues from Hamburg. At this 
place I wrote my ' Precis de Conduite? which produced 
such a powerful effect in my favor. I soon left for 
Berlin, in Prussia. I took lodgings with Mademoiselle 
Bocquet, who kept a boarding-school. Here I made 
several charming acquaintances ; but my cruel fortunes 
still triumphed. I was informed that great exertions 
were making to get me out of the kingdom. It had 
been rumored that the Abbe Sieves, whom I had never 
even seen, had made me a visit. The king said he 
1 would not banish me from his library, but that he 
would not allow me to remain in his territories.' Ac- 
cordingly a police officer came with an order for me 
to leave the kingdom in two hours. This was a real 
thunderbolt. Leaving all my effects behind me, I got 
into a carriage and drove away. We were obliged to 
travel to # the frontiers without stopping, except for 
meals. Three weeks after I reached Hamburg, I 
received my baggage and manuscripts from Berlin. 
During my stay here, I saw Pamela and her husband. 
I soon perceived that Lord Edward had imbibed 
opinions dangerous to his own government, and feared 
that he was about to engage in some desperate en- 
terprise. 

" I now went to Holstein, and took up my abode 
with M. Peterson, in a delightful thatched cottage. The 



216 MADAME DE GENLIS, 

family was charming, and the rural style of living 
just what I liked. I assisted in churning the butter, 
and fed on the most delicious red partridges. 1 here 
performed a literary labor that greatly fatigued me. 
In the morning, I wrote the l Petits Emigres,'' and in 
the evening, I occupied myself with the ' Vceux Time* 
rairesS Beside this, I wrote all the fables of 
i Her bier MoraV 

"I learned by the newspapers that Lord Edward 
Fitzgerald was arrested in consequence of intrigues in 
Ireland.* I found also that my brother had perished 

* Lord Edward Fitzgerald was the son of the Duke of Lein- 
ster, and born in Ireland, October 15th, 1763. He was educated 
for the military profession, and served in the American war 
with credit. He was an ardent lover of liberty, and deeply 
felt the wrongs done to his native country by the British gov- 
ernment. He hailed the French revolution as the dawn of 
universal freedom : in 1792 he went to Paris, and participated 
in the intoxication of that eventful era. After his marriage to 
Pamela, he went to Ireland, and became one of the leaders in 
the rebellion of 1798. He became obnoxious to the government, 
and was arrested while concealed in a house in Dublin. He was 
at the time in bed : he resisted fiercely, and wounded two of the 
officers, one of them mortally. He received a pistol ball in his 
shoulder, and, being confined in Newgate, died June 4th, 1798. 

He was a man of remarkable elevation and singleness of 
mind, and was greatly endeared to his friends. The letters 
written by different members of his family, at the time of his 
arrest and during his confinement in prison, published by his. 
biographer, Moore, are among the most touching that were 
ever penned. Their attachment to their unfortunate relation 
amounted almost to idolatry. 

His wife, who had three children at the time of his death, 
seems to have been a fit partner for so noble a spirit. The 
letters above alluded to depict her character as one of extraor- 



MADAME DE GENLIS, 217 

at sea. I became now seriously ill, was attacked with 
fever, and recovered only as by a miracle. The 
king of Prussia, Frederic William II. , having died in 
1797, his son, the prince royal, authorized me to re- 
turn to Berlin, where ' I should always find peace and 
repose.' Though still weak, I set out, arrived there in 
safety, and was received with delight by Mademoiselle 
Bocquet. She had prepared for me a charming 
apartment, fitted up with all the attention of kind 
friendship." 

We have thus far presented an abridgment of 
Madame de GenhVs own narrative : we must now 
hasten to the conclusion. Under the consulship of 
Bonaparte, who had a favorable opinion of her talents, 
she returned to Paris, and became one of his admirers 
and panegyrists. After the restoration of the Bour- 
bons, she wrote in defence of monarchy and religion. 

Her pen seemed inexhaustible, and she continued at 
intervals to pour forth its productions upon the public. 
She had passed her eightieth year when her " Memoirs " 
were written. She lived to witness the astonishing 
events of July, 1830, and to see her former pupil raised 
to the throne under the title of Louis Philippe. She 
died December 31st, 1830, aged 84 years. 

The character of Madame de Genlis is not without 
marks of weakness, and she has been charged even 
with gross departures from the path of rectitude. On 

dinary elevation and loveliness. Some doubt about her pa- 
rentage has existed ; but, as we have given the statement of 
Madame de Genlis upon the subject, it does not seem neces- 
sary to say more. She returned to France, and her remains 
are deposited in the cemetery of Mont Martre, at Paris. 
vi.— 19 



218 MADAME DE GENUS. 

this point, however, the proof is not clear. Her 
" Memoirs " display a degree of vanity only to be pal- 
liated by the customs of her sex in France ; and her 
opinions on public affairs appear to have fluctuated 
with her fortunes. Yet, as a writer, particularly of 
works of fiction, which blend instruction with amuse- 
ment, and have especially in view the inculcation of just 
sentiments, she has had few equals. Her " Palace of 
Truth," and " Tales of the Castle," are among the 
most captivating, yet useful books of the kind, that 
were ever penned. Some of her works are exception- 
able in respect to their tendency ; yet, on the whole, 
we are bound to assign to her the credit of an excellent 
heart, and a high order of genius. Her works have 
been published in eighty-four volumes, duodecimo, 




JOSEPHINE 



M. Tascher, a native of France, having resigned his 
commission in the cavalry, retired to an estate in the 
Island of St. Domingo. In the year 1763, he, together 
with his wife, made a visit to a sister in Martinico, and 
there, on the 23d of June, a daughter, Josephine, was 
born. On the return of her parents to St. Domingo, 
she was left with her aunt, and there are no traces 
of future intercourse with them. Often, in after years, 
did. Josephine revert to the unmingled happiness and 
peaceful enjoyments of her childhood. The advantages 
for education enjoyed by Mademoiselle Tascher were 
superior to what would be supposed by those who have 
only known the French colonies at a subsequent period. 
The proprietors were many of them highly accom- 
plished gentlemen, born and educated in France, who 
had retired to their estates in the New World, as a 
retreat from which to watch the progress of those 
events which were beginning to disturb the quiet of 
the Old. 

Josephine, naturally amiable and gentle in dispo- 
sition, with manners which combined ease and ele- 
gance with dignity, possessed a natural aptitude for 
acquiring feminine accomplishments. She played, 
especially on the harp, and sung with exquisite feeling. 




JOSEPHINE. 



JOSEPHINE. 221 

Her dancing is said to have been perfect. An eye- 
witness describes her light form, rising scarcely above 
the middle size, as seeming in its faultless symmetry 
to float rather than to move — the very personation of 
Grace. She was mistress of the pencil and of the 
needle. Flowers were her passion ; she early culti- 
vated a knowledge of botany. To the empress 
Josephine Europe is indebted for a knowledge of the 
Camelia. She read delightfully ; the tones of her 
voice fascinated. " The first applause of the French 
people," said Napoleon, " sounded to my ear sweet as 
the voice of Josephine." 

The companion of her infancy was a mulatto girl, 
some years older than herself, — her foster-sister, Eu- 
phemia, — who never afterwards quitted her patroness, 
shared in her amusements, and was the companion of 
her rambles. In one of these an incident occurred, 
which exercised a lasting influence over her imagin* 
ation. The particulars were, long afterwards, thus 
related by herself : — 

" One day, some time before my first marriage, 
while taking my usual walk, I observed a number of 
negro girls assembled round an old woman, who was 
telling their fortune. I stopped to listen to her. The 
sorceress, on seeing me, uttered a loud shriek, and 
grasped my hand. I laughed at her grimaces, and 
allowed her to proceed, saying, c So you discover 
something extraordinary in my destiny ? ' 'I do.' 
' Do you disco", er traces of happiness, or misfortune ? ' 
' Of misfortune, certainly ; but of happiness also.' 
* You take care not to commit yourself, my worthy 
sibyl ; your oracles are not the most clear. 1 c I am 
19* 



222 JOSEPHINE. 

not permitted to make them more so,' said the woman, 
raising her eyes in a mysterious manner towards 
heaven. My curiosity was now awakened, and I 
said to her, £ But tell me, what read you in futurity 
concerning me?' s What do I read ? You will not 
believe me if I tell you.' c Yes, indeed, I assure you. 
Come, good woman, what am I to hope or fear ? ' 
' You insist ; listen then. You will soon be married ; 
the union will not be happy ; you will become a 
widow, and then — you will become queen of France ! 
You will enjoy many years of happiness, but you will 
be killed in a popular commotion.' The old woman 
then burst from the crowd, and hurried away as fast 
as her limbs, enfeebled by age, would permit. I for- 
bade the bystanders to laugh at the prophetess for her 
ridiculous prediction, and took the occasion to caution 
the young negro women against giving credit to such 
pretenders. Henceforth, I thought of the affair only 
to laugh at it. But afterwards, when my husband had 
perished on the scaffold, in spite of my better judg- 
ment, this prediction forcibly recurred to my mind ; 
and, though I was myself then in prison, the transac- 
tion daily assumed a less improbable character, and I 
ended by regarding the fulfilment as almost a matter 
of course." 

Nothing at the time seemed less likely than the 
fulfilment of the prediction. Miss Tascher seemed 
destined to become the wife of some creole youth, and 
to pass a tranquil and indolent life on some neigh- 
boring plantation. It so chanced, however, that the 
young Vicompte Alexander de Beauharnais, "who," 
in Josephine's words, " had embraced the new ideas 
with all the ardor of a very lively imagination," after 



JOSEPHINE. 223 

serving with distinction in the war of the American 
revolution, came to Martinico to prove his title to 
some estates which had fallen by inheritance to him- 
self and his brother. These estates were held on 
lease by Josephine's uncle, and an acquaintance be 
tween the young people naturally followed. They 
became mutually attached ; but his relatives, who were 
opposed to the match, interposed obstacles which Jo- 
sephine surmounted with a gentleness and address 
hardly to be expected in a girl of sixteen. In 1794, 
writing to her children, Josephine says, "If to my 
union with your father I have been indebted for all 
my happiness, I dare to think and say, that to my own 
character I owe our union, so many were the obstacles 
which opposed us. Yet, without any effort of talents, 
I effected their removal. I found in my own heart 
the means of gaining the affection of my husband's 
relations ; patience and goodness will ever in the end 
conciliate the good-will of others." 

On their arrival in France, in 1779, the youthful 
pair are said to have created a sensation in society. 
The manners and accomplishments of Josephine ex- 
cited admiration in the most polished court in Europe ; 
and the attentions of Marie Antoinette made an impres- 
sion on her grateful heart which endured through a 
life, the incidents of which were in such seeming oppo- 
sition to the interests of the Bourbons. Much of their 
time, however, was spent on the vicompte's estates in 
Brittany ; and here were born Eugene, afterwards 
viceroy of Italy, and Hortense, afterwards queen of 
Holland. 

Every thing gave promise of enduring happiness. 



224 JOSEPHINE. 

But the misconduct of the vicompte destroyed it. 
Josephine at first complained with gentleness, and 
sought by increased fondness to win back the waning 
affections of her husband. Finding this unavailing, 
she infused into her reproaches a degree of bitterness 
which alienated completely the affections she was so 
anxious to gain. A separation was the consequence, 
and Josephine returned with her children to Martinico. 
After an absence of several years, she once again 
sailed for France, and in circumstances far from 
affluent. An incident which occurred on the voyage 
was thus related to the ladies of her court. She had 
indulged a wish they had expressed to see her jewels. 
They were spread upon a spacious table, which was 
covered with them. The brilliancy, the size, and the 
quantity, of the jewels composing the different sets, 
were dazzling to the eye. Here were collected the 
choicest gems of Europe, for all its nations had been 
eager to heap presents upon the wife of Napoleon. 
After she had permitted the ladies to examine at 
leisure these treasures, which almost realized the 
tales of the " Arabian Nights," Josephine said to them, 
"During the first dawn of my elevation, I delighted 
in these trifles. I grew by degrees so tired of them, 
that I no longer wear any, except when I am com- 
pelled to do so by my station in the world. Trust to 
me, ladies, and do not envy a splendor which does not 
constitute happiness. You will be surprised when I 
tell you that I felt more pleasure at receiving a pair 
of old shoes, than at being presented with all the 
diamonds now spread before you." The ladies smiled 
at what they considered a mere pleasantry ; but Jo- 



JOSEPHINE. 225 

sephine repeated the remark with such earnestness as 
to induce them to ask for the story. " Accompanied 
by Hortense, I embarked at Martinico for France. 
Being separated from my husband, my pecuniary 
resources were not very flourishing ; the expense of 
my return to France, which the state of my affairs 
rendered necessary, had nearly drained my purse, 
and I found great difficulty in providing the indispen- 
sable requisites for the voyage. Hortense, who was a 
smart, lively girl, became a great favorite with the 
sailors ; she entertained them by imitating the songs 
and dances of the negroes. No sooner did she observe 
me engaged, than she slipped upon deck, and repeated 
her little exercises to the renewed delight of all. An 
old quarter-master was particularly attentive to her, 
and, whenever he found a moment's leisure, he devoted 
it to his little friend, who became much attached to 
him. This constant dancing and skipping soon de- 
stroyed my daughter's slight shoes. Knowing that 
she had no other pair, and fearing that I should forbid 
her going upon deck, if I should discover this defect in 
her attire, she concealed it. Her bleeding feet one 
day attracted my notice. I asked, in alarm, if she had 
hurt herself. ; No, mamma.' c But your feet are 
bleeding.' ' It really is nothing.' I insisted upon 
seeing what was the matter, and found that the shoes 
were in tatters, and her foot dreadfully torn by a nail. 
The voyage was not half performed, and there seemed 
no possibility of procuring a new pair before reaching 
France. I was quite overcome at the idea of Hor- 
tense's sorrow at being compelled to remain shut up 
in my little cabin, and to the injury to her health. My 



226 JOSEPHINE. 

tears found a free vent. At this moment our friend 
the quarter- master appeared. With honest bluntness 
he asked the cause of our grief. Hortense, sobbing 
all the while, told him that she could no longer go on 
deck, because she had no shoes. ' Is that all ? ' said 
he ; c I have an old pair somewhere in my chest ; I 
will bring them ; you, madam, can cut them to shape, 
and I will sew them as well as I can. On board ship, 
you must put up with many things. It is not the place 
to be too nice and particular.' He did not wait for my 
reply, but went in quest of his shoes, which he brought 
to us with an air of exultation, and offered them to 
Hortense, who received them with eager delight. We 
set to work with zeal, and Hortense enjoyed the de- 
light of furnishing the evening's diversion to the crew. 
I repeat that no present was ever received by me with 
more pleasure than this pair of old, coarse, leather 
shoes." 

The motive of Josephine in returning to France 
was to be near her husband, who was a prominent 
actor in the scenes of the French revolution. Know- 
ing the warmth of his political feelings, she trembled 
for his safety ; her past resentment vanished. She 
sought a reconciliation, which he most cordially desired. 

Passing onward in our story, we find Madame de 
Beauharnais a widow and a prisoner. Her husband, 
after filling the offices of president of the Convention, 
and general-in-chief of the army of the Rhine, had, 
during the reign of terror, perished on the scaffold. 
On the same day on which this event was communi- 
cated to her, she received an intimation to prepare 
herself for death. But she had found a new source 



JOSEPHINE, 227 

of strength. Her mind, in reverting to past scenes 
dwelt upon the almost forgotten prophecy of the ne« 
gress. Her imagination was excited ; it began to 
appear less and less absurd to her, and finally termi- 
nated in her almost certain belief. The following 
relation was made by herself at Navarre : — 

" The jailer came one morning to the room occupied 
by the Duchess d'Aiguillon, two other ladies, and my- 
self, and said that he came to remove my bed, which 
was to be given to another prisoner. ' Why give it 
away?' said the duchess eagerly : ' is, then, Madame 
de Beauharnais to have a better ? ' ' No, no ; she 
will not need one at all,' said the wretch, with an atro- 
cious smile ; she is to be taken to a new lodging, and 
thence to the guillotine.' On hearing this, my com- 
panions shrieked aloud. I endeavored to console 
them. At length, wearied with their continued lamen- 
tations, I told them their grief was quite unreasonable ; 
that not only I should not die, but that I should be 
queen of France. ' Why do you not at once name 
the persons of your household ? ' said Madame d'Ai- 
guillon, with an air of resentment. ■ Very true ; I had 
quite forgotten it. Well, my dear, you shall be lady 
of honor ; you may rely upon my promise.' The 
tears of the ladies now flowed afresh, for my com- 
posure made them think that my reason was affected. 
I assure you, however, that there was no affectation 
of courage on my part ; I felt a conviction that the 
oracle would be fulfilled. Madame d'Aiguillon grew 
faint, and I led her towards the window, which I threw 
open, that she might breathe the fresh air; I suddenly 
caught sight of a poor woman who was making signs 



228 JOSEPHINE, 

to us. She was laying hold of her gown at every mo- 
ment — a sign which we were at a loss to understand. 
At length I cried out to her, ' Role.'' She nodded in as- 
sent, and then, picking up a stone, held it up with her 
other hand. c Pierre,'' I cried out. Her joy was un- 
bounded when we understood her ; and, bringing the 
gown close to the stone, she made quick and repeated 
signs of cutting her throat, and began to dance and clap 
her hands. This strange pantomime excited an emotion 
in our minds which it is impossible to describe, as we 
ventured to hope that it gave us the announcement of 
Robespierre 's death. 

" Whilst we were in this state of suspense, we heard 
a great noise in the passage, and the formidable voice 
of the keeper, who, giving a kick to his dog, said to 
the animal, ' Get out of the way, you d — d brute of a 
Robespierre.' This energetic phraseology proved to 
us that France was rid of her tyrant. In fact, our 
companions in misfortune came in soon afterwards, 
and gave us the details of the important event. My 
hammock was brought back to me, and I never enjoyed 
a quieter night. I fell asleep, after saying to my 
friends, ' You see that I am not guillotined ; I shall yet 
be queen of France ! ' " 

Notwithstanding this confidence, Josephine had de- 
voted a portion of her last day to writing a last fare- 
well to her children. Here are extracts from it : 
" My children, your father is dead, and your mother is 
about to follow him ; but as, before that final stroke, 
the assassins leave me a few moments to myself, I wish 
to employ them in writing to you. Socrates, when 
condemned, philosophized with his disciples ; a mother, 



JOSEPHINE, 229 

on the point of undergoing a similar fate, may dis- 
course with her children. My last sigh will be for 
you, and I wish to make my last words a lasting lesson. 
Time was, when I gave you lessons in a more pleasing 
way ; but the present will not be the less useful, that it 
is given at so serious a moment. I have the weakness 
to water it with my tears ; I shall soon have the courage 
to seal it with my blood. *•* * I am about to die as your 
father died, a victim of the fury he always opposed, but 
to which he fell a sacrifice. I leave life without hatred 
of France and its assassins ; but I am penetrated with 
sorrow for the misfortunes of my country. Honor my 
memory in sharing my sentiments. I leave for your 
inheritance the glory of your father, and the name of 
your mother, whom some who have been unfortunate 
will bear in remembrance." In more prosperous days, 
the poor and the distressed had ever found Josephine's 
heart and hand open for their relief. She was now 
herself obliged to rely upon the benevolence of others 
for her own subsistence, and of the services she then 
received, she ever retained a grateful recollection. 
She had been most affected by the attentions of 
Madame Dumoulin, and felt great delight, in after 
years, in adverting to the subject. At this period of 
general scarcity, this benevolent lady every day enter- 
tained at her table a party of those whose means were 
more limited. Madame de Beauharnais was a regular 
guest. Bread was at this time so scarce as to be a 
subject of legal enactment, restricting the quantity 
allowed to each person to two ounces. Guests at the 
houses of the most opulent, even, were expected to 
bring their own bread. Aware that Madame de Beau- 
vi.— 20 



230 JOSEPHINE. 

harnais was in more distressed circumstances than 
the rest, Madame Dumoulin dispensed with this prac- 
tice in her favor, thereby justifying the expression of 
the latter, that she received her daily bread from her. 
Tallien, Barras, and those who succeeded to power, 
on the fall of the terrorists, being themselves not des- 
titute of refinement, were desirous that society should 
emerge from the state of barbarism into which it had 
fallen. Madame Tallien, distinguished for grace, 
beauty, and brilliancy of wit, exerted all her charms 
to diffuse a taste for the courtesies and amenities of 
civilized life, and thus to soften the sanguinary spirit 
which had led to so many atrocities. Calling to her 
assistance her intimate friend, Madame de Beauhar- 
nais, the task was soon, to some extent, accomplished. 
Private individuals did not yet dare to make any show 
of wealth by receiving company habitually at their 
own houses. Public balls, and public concerts at the 
Hotels Thelusson and Richelieu, were the fashion. 
Here persons of all opinions, of all castes, inter- 
mingled, and laughed and danced together in the 
utmost harmony. The influence of Madame Tallien 
was at this time very great, and under her protection 
many an emigre returned, and many a royalist 
emerged from the hiding-place to figure in these gay 
scenes. Most of them submitted with a good grace to 
the new order of things. It sometimes chanced, how- 
ever, that curiosity or ennui would lead thither some 
who could not so readily lay aside feelings and habits 
acquired under the old regime, and scenes would 
occur not a little amusing to the philosophic observer, 
who, had he possessed the gift of second sight, would 



JOSEPHINE. 231 

have been doubly amused. One of these is thus 
related by a contemporary. Madame de D. was one 
evening persuaded, by the old Marquis d'Hautefo-rt, so 
far to lay aside her prejudices as to accompany him, 
with her daughter, to a ball at Thelusson's. The party 
arrived late. The room was crowded. By dint of 
elbowing and entreaties, they reached the centre. To 
find two seats together was impossible, and Madame 
de D., who was not of a timid nature, looked about on 
all sides to find at least one. Her eyes encountered 
a young and charming face, surrounded by a profu- 
sion of light hair, looking slyly forth from a pair of 
large, dark-blue eyes, and exhibiting altogether the 
image of the most graceful of sylphs. This young 
lady was conducted back to her seat by M. de T., 
which proved that she danced well ; for none other 
were invited to be his partners. The graceful crea- 
ture, after courtesying, with a blush, to the Vestris of 
the ball-rooms, sat down by the side of a female, who 
appeared to be her elder sister, and whose elegant 
dress excited the notice and envy of all the women at 
the ball. " Who are those persons ? " said Madame de 
D. " What, is it possible that you do not know the 
Viscountess Beauharnais ? " said the marquis. " It is 
she and her daughter. There is a vacant place by 
her ; come and sit down ; you may renew your ac- 
quaintance with her. 1 ' Madame de D., without making 
any reply, gave such a tug at the arm of the marquis 
as to draw him, whether he- would or not, into one of 
the little saloons. " Are you mad ? " said she to him. 
" A pretty place, truly, by the side of Madame Beau- 
harnais ! Ernestine would of course have been obliged 



232 JOSEPHINE. 

to make acquaintance with her daughter. Marquis, 
you must have lost your wits." 

In the month of May, 1795, Napoleon Bonaparte 
came to Paris. His energies and talents had already 
attracted the notice of some of the leading men, es- 
pecially of Barras, who had witnessed his conduct at 
Toulon. Upon the establishment of the Directory, he 
was appointed general-in-chief of the army of the 
interior, and commandant of Paris. In this latter 
capacity he had his first particular interview with 
Josephine. It had been his duty to disarm the cit- 
izens, and he had thus become possessed of the sword 
of Viscount Beauharnais. Eugene, who had a rever- 
ential admiration of his father, wished to obtain so 
precious a relic. Though not yet fourteen, he pre- 
sented himself at the levee of the commander-in-chief, 
and solicited the restoration of his father's sword. 
His frank and gallant bearing pleased the general, 
who immediately granted the request. 

The next day, Madame Beauharnais called at the 
head-quarters, to thank the general for his condescen- 
sion to her son. They had before met at the table of 
Barras ; but a disappointed, and, in some degree, dis- 
graced officer was not likely to attract the regards of one 
already looked upon as among the most distinguished 
ladies in France. But the circumstances of their 
present interview served to infuse a particular interest 
into their previous acquaintance. Bonaparte returned 
the visit. He became a suitor in his turn. Josephine, 
besides her intimacy with Madame Tallien, herself 
exerted great influence over those in power, and could 
do much to secure the position of the young soldier. 



JOSEPHINE. 233 

Ambition, as well as love, being his prompters, Bona- 
parte was not the man to fail, gifted, as he appears to 
have been, from Josephine's own confession, with un- 
equalled powers of persuasion. The nuptials were 
celebrated March 9th, 1796, and twelve days after, 
Bonaparte left Paris to take the command of the army 
of Italy — an appointment which Barras had promised, 
as it were, as a dowry for Josephine. 

Amidst the exciting, and, one would think, all-absorb- 
ing events of that wonderful campaign, Josephine was 
always in the thoughts of the youthful conqueror. 
His constant letters breathe the most romantic passion, 
couched in the most ardent language. By some 
accident, the glass of a miniature of his bride, which 
he constantly wore about his person, was broken ; how 
he knew not. This simple occurrence he conceived 
to be a prognostication of the death of the original, 
and enjoyed no peace of mind, until a courier, de- 
spatched express, returned with tidings of her safety. 

The campaign finished, Josephine joined her hus- 
band at the head-quarters at Montebello, where a 
crowd of princes, nobles, and ambassadors, had as- 
sembled to settle with the conqueror the- terms of 
peace. Add to these a crowd of young and gallant 
Frenchmen, the officers of the army, flushed with 
victory, and we have a picture of a court as brilliant 
as can well be conceived. All vied in assiduous atten- 
tion to her who was beloved and honored by the gen- 
eral. All was joy and festivity. The most magnifi- 
cent entertainments were varied by excursions among 
the enchanting scenery around. For all this Josephine 
was indebted to her husband, and it was all enjoyed in 
20* 



234 JOSEPHINE. 

his company. In after life, she often reverted to 
this as the happiest period of her existence. Of her 
conduct in this new position, Bonaparte himself 
remarked, " I conquer provinces, Josephine gains 
hearts." 

When the expedition to Egypt was determined upon, 
a new armament was to be organized, and great diffi- 
culties to be overcome. While her husband passed 
the day, and frequently great part of the night, in his 
cabinet, or at the Luxemburg, in wringing from the 
Directory reluctant consent to his measures, Josephine, 
in the saloon, was equally active in attaching new or 
confirming old adherents. Never were those concili- 
ating manners for which she was so celebrated more 
successfully employed, than in the dawn of her hus- 
band's fortunes. Not a few were thus won to a stand- 
ard which they were destined to display over so many 
prostrate capitals of Europe. Under her auspices, too, 
were formed some unions, more in consonance with 
her own gentle nature. " Habit," said the empress, 
long afterwards, " has rendered the practice familiar ; 
but there is only one occasion on which I should vol- 
untarily say, J will ; namely, when I would say, I will 
that all around me be happy." 

The greater portion of the time of her husband's 
absence in the East was passed by her at Malmaison, 
an estate which she purchased, about twelve miles 
from Paris. Here she occupied herself in the. educa- 
tion of her daughter, in the improvement of the 
grounds, and in watching over and securing the in- 
terests of her husband. To this end it was necessary 
that she should see much company ; but she received 



JOSEPHINE. 235 

none to her intimacy, except a few of her ancient 
female friends. 

Leading a life above reproach, there were about 
her concealed enemies, who watched in order to mis- 
represent every action ; of these the most active were 
her own brothers and sisters-in-law, who, needy and 
rapacious, and totally dependent on their brother, 
viewed with jealous alarm any influence which threat- 
ened the exclusive dominion they wished to maintain 
over his mind. In the Syrian camp there were found 
creatures base enough to be the instruments of con- 
veying their slanders to their destination. A repeti- 
tion of these produced at length some effect on the 
jealous temper of the husband, as was obvious from 
the altered tone of his letters, which had hitherto been 
full of the most tender and confiding affection. On 
Ms return, however, an explanation took place, which 
i eft not a shade of suspicion on his mind ; nor was the 
union ever afterwards disturbed from the same cause. 

The crisis which Bonaparte had foreseen at length 
arrived ; the people demanded the overthrow of the 
weak and tyrannical government. During the 19th of 
Brumaire, Josephine remained at home, in the most 
anxious inquietude, relieved, indeed, from time to time, 
by her husband's attention in despatching notes of what 
was passing at St. Cloud. When night, however, and 
at last morning, came, without sight, or even tidings, 
of him, she was in a condition bordering on distraction. 
In this state, she had retired to bed, when, at length, 
about four in the morning, the Consul entered the 
apartment. A lively conversation ensued, and Bona- 
parte gayly announced that the fate of thirty million s 



236 JOSEPHINE. 

of people had passed into his hands, by the remark, 
" Good night — to-morrow we sleep in the Luxem- 
burg." 

The palace of the Luxemburg was soon found " trop 
etroit" — too confined, — and the consuls removed 
their residence to the Tuileries, the ancient palace of 
the kings, now disguised by the title of the " govern- 
mental palace." To the wife of the " first consul " 
a portion of the former royal apartments was assigned, 
and here, soon after the installation, she made her first 
essay in the grand observances of empire. On the 
evening of her first levee, the drawing-rooms were 
crowded, at an early hour, by a most brilliant assem- 
bly, and so numerous, that the doors of her private 
apartments were thrown open. Madame Bonaparte 
was announced, and entered, conducted by M. de Tal- 
leyrand, then minister for foreign affairs. A momen- 
tary feeling of disappointment may have crossed the 
minds of those who had looked for magnificence and 
state. Josephine was attired with the utmost simplicity, 
in a robe of white muslin : her hair, without decoration 
of any kind, and merely retained by a plain comb, fell 
in tresses upon her neck, in the most becoming negli- 
gence ; a collar of pearls harmonized with and com- 
pleted this unpretending costume. A spontaneous 
murmur of admiration followed her entrance : such 
were the grace and dignity of her deportment, that, in 
the absence of all the external attributes of rank, a 
stranger would have fixed upon the principal personage 
in the circle, as readily as if radiant with diamonds and 
stars of every order. Making the tour of the apart- 
ments, the ambassadors from foreign powers were first 



JOSEPHINE. 237 

introduced to her. When these were nearly com- 
pleted, the first consul entered, but without being an- 
nounced, dressed in a plain uniform, with a sash of 
tri-colored silk. In this simplicity there were both good 
taste and sound policy. The occasion was not a royal 
levee ; it was merely the first magistrate and his wife 
receiving the congratulations of their fellow-citizens. 

Josephine was at this time thirty-six years old ; but 
she yet retained those personal advantages which 
usually belong only to more youthful years. The 
surpassing elegance and taste displayed in the myste- 
ries of the toilet were doubtless not without their in- 
fluence in prolonging the empire of beauty ; but nature 
had been originally bountiful. Her stature was exactly 
that perfection which is neither too tall for female 
delicacy, nor so diminutive as to detract from dignity. 
Her person was faultlessly symmetrical, and the light- 
ness and elasticity of its action gave an aerial charac- 
ter to her graceful carriage. Her features were small 
and finely modelled, of a Grecian cast. The habitual 
character of her countenance was a placid sweetness. 
" Never," says a very honest admirer, " did any woman 
better justify the saying, ' The eyes are the mirror of 
the soul.' " Josephine's were of a deep blue, clear 
and brilliant, usually lying half concealed under their 
long and silky eyelashes. The winning tenderness of 
her mild, subdued glance had a power which could tran- 
quillize Napoleon in his darkest moods. ' Her hair was 
" glossy chestnut brown," harmonizing delightfully with 
a clear and transparent complexion, and neck of almost 
dazzling whiteness. Her voice has already been men- 
tioned ; it constituted one of her most pleasing attrac- 



23R 



JOSEPHINE. 



tions, and rendered her conversation the most capti- 
vating that can easily be conceived. 

On the 7th of May, 1800, the first consul took leave 
3>f his wife, on his departure for Italy. " Courage," 
paid he, " my good Josephine ! I shall not forget thee, 
nor will my absence be long. 1 ' To both promises he 
was faithful. On the 2d of July, less than two months 
after he left Paris, he again slept at the Tuileries, hav- 
ing, in that brief space, broken the strength of the 
mighty armies which opposed him, wrested Italy, which 
the Austrians had reconquered during his absence in 
the East, again from their power, and thus laid deep 
the foundations of his future empire. During this bril- 
liant campaign, Josephine's absorbing enjoyment was 
to read the letters from Italy. These, in the hand- 
writing of the consul, or dictated to his secretary, ar- 
rived almost daily at Malmaison, where she had re- 
sided, superintending the improvements. At this 
period, too, she began a collection of rare animals; 
to which the power or conquests of her husband, or 
a grateful remembrance of her own kindness, brought 
her accessions from all quarters of the globe. 

The first consul now had leisure to enjoy the tran- 
quillity which he had restored. The jours de conge , 
or holydays, on which, retiring to Malmaison, he threw 
off the cares of state, now came round more frequently. 
His visitors, on these occasions, were, besides the chief 
officers of state and of the army, the persons most 
distinguished for talent and for birth, the historic names 
of the olden time mingling with the new men of the 
revolution. Josephine received her visitors with ele- 



JOSEPHINE. 239 

gance and grace, and with a simplicity which placed 
every one perfectly at his ease. The amusements 
were of the simplest kind. The favorite was the fa- 
miliar, schoolboy game of " prison-bars." Bonaparte, 
Ji the selection of partisans, always chose Josephine, 
never suffering her to be in any camp but his own. 
When by chance she was taken prisoner, he seemed 
uneasy till she was released, making all exertions for 
that purpose, though a bad runner himself, often com- 
ing down, in mid career, plump upon the grass. Up 
again, however, he started, but usually so convulsed 
with laughter that he could not move, and the affair 
generally ended in his own captivity. 

But Josephine did not neglect the higher duties of 
her station. From the moment she had the power, her 
endeavors were used to alleviate the misfortunes of 
those whom the revolution had driven into exile, and 
a considerable portion of her income was devoted to 
their support. To the general act of amnesty, which 
the consul had issued on his access to power, there 
were many exceptions. To smooth the difficulties 
which lay in the way of the return of such, Jose- 
phine's influence and exertions were seldom denied, 
and rarely unsuccessful. " Josephine," as her hus- 
band remarked, " will not take a refusal ; but, it must 
be confessed, she rarely undertakes a cause that has 
not propriety, at least, on its side." 

In May, 1804, destiny was fulfilled in the prediction 
of which Josephine had professed so long to believe. 
On the 18th of that month, the Senate, headed by the 
ex-second consul, proceeded in state to her apartments, 
and saluted her as Empress of the French. She re- 



240 JOSEPHINE, 

ceived their congratulations with emotion, but with her 
accustomed benignity and grace. The succeeding 
night was passed by her in tears. " To be the wife 
of the first consul, fulfilled her utmost ambition." 
Presentiments of evil now filled her bosom. . The ambi- 
tion of founding a hew dynasty had found a place in 
the breast of the consul : would not this increase in 
strength in that of the emperor ? The hopes of estab- 
lishing it in his own line were now little likely to be 
realized, and the enemies of Josephine had already 
hinted at a divorce. What impression these might 
have made had been effaced for the time by the grant 
of power to Bonaparte to name his successor in the 
consulship, and by the birth of a Son to Louis, who had 
married Hortense, but especially by his undiminished 
affection for his wife. He now had the inducement 
of seeking, by new family ties, to secure the sta- 
bility of his throne. But such thoughts did not per- 
manently disturb the repose of Josephine. Impres- 
sions were readily made, and as quickly effaced ; and 
she possessed the true secret of happiness — the art 
of postponing imaginary evil, and of enjoying the 
real good of the moment. 

In her new situation Josephine found another source 
of sorrow. The state and ceremony of the consulship 
had sadly marred the pleasures of domestic intercourse. 
But now she found herself alone, above the kindly 
glow of equal affections — a wretched condition for 
one " whose first desire was to be loved.'" She sought, 
however, by increased kindness, to lessen the distance 
between herself and her old friends and companions. 
Nothing could be more amiable than the reception 



JOSEPHINE, 241 

which she gave to those who came to take the oaths 
of fidelity on receiving appointments in her household. 
She took care to remove all ostentatious ceremony, 
talked to them on familiar topics, and sought to make 
the whole pass as an agreement between two friends 
to love each other. This condescension extended 
even to her humble domestics, yet never degenerated 
into undignified familiarity or absence of self-posses- 
sion, as the following little incident will show. On the 
first occasion of her leaving St. Cloud for a distant 
excursion as empress, she traversed a whole suit of 
apartments to give directions to a very subaltern per- 
son of the household. The grand steward ventured to 
remonstrate on her thus compromising her dignity. 
The empress gayly replied, " You are quite right, my 
good sir ; such neglect of etiquette would be al- 
together inexcusable in a princess trained from birth 
to the restraints of a throne ; but have the goodness 
to recollect that I have enjoyed the felicity of living 
so many years as a private individual, and do not take 
it amiss if I sometimes venture to speak kindly to my 
servants without an interpreter." 

The frequent excursions made by the court formed 
a principal class of events in Josephine's life as em- 
press ; they constituted those alternations which gave 
her most pleasure. When such journeys were in con- 
templation, none knew the hour of departure, or even 
the route — a secrecy adopted to guard against conspir- 
acies. " We set out at such an hour," generally an 
early one, Napoleon would carelessly say, as he retired 
for the night. By the appointed hour every prepara- 
tion was made, and the imperial travellers departed 
p v* s — 21 



242 JOSEPHINE. 

Sometimes Josephine travelled alone 5 and, on such 
occasions, every thing was arranged beforehand, in- 
cluding the replies she was to make to the addresses 
made to her, and the presents she was to bestow. 
Even the most minute thing was set down in a huge 
manuscript volume, which Josephine diligently conned 
previous to every ceremony. But if any thing chanced 
to escape her memory in this multiplicity of details, 
her unpremeditated answers or arrangements were 
always delivered with so much eloquence and pro- 
priety, or marked with such perfect kindness, that all 
parties were satisfied. Sometimes, however, a little 
mistake occurred, as, for example, on departing from 
Rheims, Josephine presented the mayoress with a 
medalion of malakite, set with diamonds, using the 
expression, " It is the emblem of hope." Some days 
after, on seeing this absurdity in one of the journals, she 
could not believe that she had used it, and despatched 
a courier instantly to Napoleon, fearing his displeasure 
above all things. This occasioned the famous order 
that no journalist should report any speech of the 
emperor or empress, unless the same had previously 
appeared in the " Moniteur." But Josephine usually 
adhered with scrupulous exactness to her written in- 
structions. " He has said it, and it must be right," was 
the constant remark with which she silenced all sug- 
gestions of change. On these excursions, every thing- 
like vain etiquette was laid aside : every thing passed 
as if among a party of equals, on an excursion of 
pleasure, each being bound to supply a modicum to the 
common fund of enjoyment ; the empress studying 



JOSEPHINE. 243 

opportunities of showing those attentions which cost so 
little, and yet go so far in winning a way to the heart. 
Charlemagne had received the holy unction from 
the hands of the head of the Catholic church. Na- 
poleon aspired to the same distinction, but with this 
difference, — instead of going to Rome to receive it, the 
pope was brought to Paris to administer it. He suf- 
fered much from the climate of France, which was too 
severe for his delicate health. The solicitude of the 
empress to provide for his comfort was extreme. The 
orders of the emperor had provided every thing that 
could be deemed necessary ; but the observant deli- 
cacy of the empress supplied many wants which 
might else have been overlooked. Every day she 
sent to inquire after his welfare, frequently visited, and 
sometimes corresponded with him. The following 
letter, addressed to him, does equal credit to her 
head and to her heart : — 

u The Empress to his Holiness Pius VII. 

" Whatever experience of human change the knowl- 
edge of our religion may have taught, your holiness 
will view, doubtless, not without astonishment, an ob- 
scure woman ready to receive from your hands the 
first among the crowns of Europe. In an event so far 
beyond the ordinary course, she recognizes and blesses 
the work of the Almighty, without daring to inquire into 
his purposes. But, holy father, I should be ungrateful, 
even while I magnified the power of God, if I poured 
not out my soul into the paternal bosom of him who 
has been chosen to represent his providence — if I 
confided not to you my secret thoughts. The first and 



244 JOSEPHINE- 

chief of these is the conviction of my own weakness 
and incapacity. Of myself I can do nothing, or, to 
speak more correctly, the little I can do is derived from 
that extraordinary man with whom my lot is cast. * * * 
How many are the difficulties which surround the sta- 
tion to which he has raised me ! I do not speak of 
the corruption, which, in the midst of greatness, has 
tainted the purest minds ; I can rely upon my own, so 
far as, in this respect, not to fear elevation. But from 
a height whence all other dignities appear mean, how 
shall I distinguish real poverty ? Ah, truly do I feel 
that, in becoming empress of the French, I ought also 
to become to them as a mother. But of what avail 
are intentions? Deeds are what the people have a 
right to demand of me, and your holiness, who so 
well replies to the respectful love of your subjects 
by continual acts of justice and benevolence, more 
than any other sovereign, is qualified to instruct me. 
O, then, holy father, may you, with the sacred unc- 
tions poured upon my head, not only awaken me to the 
truth of these precepts which my heart acknowledges, 
but also confirm the resolution of applying them to 
practice ! " 

On the 2d of December, 1804, Napoleon placed the 
imperial crown upon the head of Josephine, as she 
knelt before him on the platform of the throne in the 
cathedral of Notre Dame. Her appearance at this 
moment was most touching ; tears of deep emotion fell 
from her eyes ; she remained for a space kneeling, 
with hands crossed upon her bosom, then, slowly and 
gracefully rising, fixed upon her husband a look of 



JOSEPHINE. 245 

gratitude and tenderness. Napoleon returned the 
glance. It was a silent but conscious interchange of 
the hopes, the promises, and the memories, of years. 

In the spring of the following year, at Milan, Jose- 
phine received from her husband the crown of the 
ancient Lombard sovereigns. The festivities which 
followed were interrupted by a summons to put down 
a new combination against France. She resolved to 
accompany the emperor on his return to Paris, though 
suffering most severely from the rapidity of the journey. 
At each change of horses, it was necessary to throw 
water on the smoking wheels ; yet Napoleon kept call- 
ing from the carriage, " On, on ! We do not move ! " 

On his departure for the splendid campaign of Aus- 
terlitz, Josephine was appointed regent of the em- 
pire. The victory, decisive of the fate of Austria, was 
productive of renewed pleasure to the empress, by the 
marriage of her Eugene with the princess royal of 
Bavaria. Joyfully obeying the mandate which was 
to restore her for a time to the society of those she 
loved, the empress left Paris for Munich, where the 
marriage was celebrated. This union proved a most 
happy one ; and the domestic felicity of her son — now 
made viceroy of Italy — constituted, both in her pros- 
perous and adverse fortunes, a cause of rejoicing to Jo- 
sephine. Her daughter, Hortense, soon after became 
queen of Holland. Could grandeur command or in- 
sure happiness, Josephine had subsequently never 
known misfortune. Every wish, save one, was grati- 
fied. She found herself on the most splendid of Eu- 
ropean thrones, beloved by the wonderful man who 
had placed her there, adored by the French nation, 
21* 



246 



JOSEPHINE, 



and respected even by enemies. Her children occu- 
pied stations second only to herself, with the prospect, 
either directly or in their issue, of succeeding to em- 
pire when death should relax the giant grasp which 
now swayed the sceptre. 

All these brilliant prospects were closed to her by 
the death, in 1807, of her grandson, the prince royal 
of Holland. This boy had gained, in an astonishing 
manner, upon the affections and hopes of his uncle, and 
there seems to be no reason for discrediting the belief 
of the emperor's intention to adopt him as his suc- 
cessor. Napoleon was strongly affected by the loss 
of his little favorite, and was often heard to exclaim, 
amidst the labors of his cabinet, " To whom shall I 
leave all this ? " 

To Josephine this loss was irremediable : hers was 
a grief not less acute, yet greater, than a mother's 
sorrow ; for, while she grieved for a beloved child, she 
trembled to think of the consequences to herself. 

But for two years longer she enjoyed such happiness 
as Damocles may be supposed to have felt with the 
sword suspended over his head. The final blow was not 
struck till 1809. On the 26th of October of that year, 
Napoleon, having once more reduced Austria to sue 
for peace, arrived most unexpectedly at Fontainbleau. 
The court was at St. Cloud, and there were none to re- 
ceive him. A courier was despatched to inform Jose- 
phine, who instantly obeyed the summons. During 
the succeeding night, it is supposed that Napoleon first 
opened to her the subject of a separation ; for from the 
morning of the 27th, it was evident that they lived in a 
state of constant restraint and mutual observation ; Na- 



JOSEPHINE. 247 

poleon scarcely venturing to look upon Josephine, save 
when he was not observed ; while she hung upon every 
glance, and trembled at every word, at the same time 
that both endeavored to be composed and natural in 
their demeanor before the courtiers. But these are 
quicksighted to detect any change of condition in their 
superiors ; nor was it one of the least of Josephine's 
troubles to be exposed to their ingratitude. " In what 
self-restraint," said she, " did I pass the period during 
which, though no longer his wife, I was obliged to 
appear so to all eyes ! Ah, what looks are those 
which courtiers suffer to fall upon a repudiated wife ! " 
The circumstance which, more than others, excited 
suspicion, was the shutting up, by the emperor's com- 
mands, of the private access between their apartments. 
Formerly, their intercourse had thus been free, even 
amid the restraints of a court. Napoleon would sur- 
prise Josephine in her boudoir, and she would steal 
upon his moments of relaxation in his cabinet. But 
now all was reversed ; the former never entered, but 
knocked when he would speak to the latter, who hardly 
dared to obey the signal, the sound of which caused 
such violent palpitations of the heart, that she had to 
support herself against the wall as she tottered towards 
the little door, on the other side of which Napoleon 
waited her approach. At these conferences he sought 
to persuade her of the political necessity and advan- 
tages of a separation — a measure which he at first 
rather hinted at than disclosed as a matter determined 
upon. 

But it was not the less fixed, and on the 30th of 
November, after dinner, the emperor ordered his at= 



248 JOSEPHINE. 

tendants to withdraw. Of what passed at this inter- 
view Josephine has been the chronicler. " I watched," 
says she, " in the changing expression of his counte- 
nance that struggle which was in his soul. At length 
his features settled into stern resolve. I saw that my 
hour was come. His whole frame trembled ; he ap- 
proached, and I felt a shuddering horror come over 
me. He took my hand, placed it upon his heart, 
gazed upon me for a moment, then pronounced these 
fearful words : ' Josephine ! my excellent Josephine ! 
thou knowest if I have loved thee ! To thee, to 
thee alone, do I owe the only moments of happiness 
which I have enjoyed in this world. Josephine ! my 
destiny overmasters my will. My dearest affections 
must be silent before the interests of France. Say 
no more.' I had still strength sufficient to reply, 1 1 
was prepared for this, but the blow is not the less 
mortal.' More I could not utter. I became uncon- 
scious of every thing, and, on returning to my senses, 
found I had been carried to my chamber." 

During the interval between the private announce- 
ment of the divorce and the 16th of December, the 
most splendid public rejoicings took place on the anni- 
versary of the coronation, and in commemoration of 
the victories of the German campaign. At all these, 
Josephine appeared in the pomp and circumstance of 
station, and even with a smiling countenance, while 
her heart was breaking. 

On the 15th of December, the council of state were 
first officially informed of the intended separation. 
On the 16th, the whole imperial family assembled in 
the grand saloon at the Tuileries. Napoleon's was the 



JOSEPHINE. 249 

only countenance which betrayed emotion. He stood 
motionless as a statue, his arms crossed upon his 
breast, without uttering a single word. The members 
of his family were seated around, showing in their 
expression a satisfaction that one was to be removed 
who had so long held influence, gently exerted as it 
had been, over their brother. In the centre of the 
apartment was an arm-chair, and before it a little 
table, with a writing apparatus of gold. A door 
opened, and Josephine, pale, but calm, appeared, 
leaning on the arm of her daughter. Both were 
dressed in the simplest manner. All rose on her 
entrance. She moved slowly, and with wonted grace, 
to the seat prepared for her, and, her head supported 
on her hand, listened to the reading of the act of sep- 
aration. Behind her chair stood Hortense, whose sobs 
were audible ; and a little farther on, towards Napo- 
leon, Eugene, trembling, as if incapable of supporting 
himself. It had required all a mother's influence to 
prevent him, on the first announcement of that mother's 
wrongs, from abandoning the service of the wrong- 
doer ; that influence had done more ; it had persuaded 
him not only to witness her own renouncement of the 
crown, but to be present at the coronation of her suc- 
cessor. 

Josephine heard with composure — the tears cours- 
ing each other down her cheeks — the words which 
placed an eternal barrier between affection and its ob- 
ject. This painful duty over, pressing for an instant 
the handkerchief to her eyes, she rose, and, in a voice 
but slightly tremulous, pronounced the oath of accept- 
ance ; then, sitting down, she took the pen and signed, 



259 JOSEPHINE. 

The mother and daughter now retired, followed by 
Eugene, who appears to have suffered the most se- 
verely of the three ; for he had no sooner reached the 
ante-chamber, than he fell lifeless on the floor. 

The emperor returned to his cabinet, silent and sad. 
He threw himself on a sofa in a state of complete 
prostration. Thus he remained for some minutes, his 
head resting on his hand ; and, when he rose, his features 
were distorted. Orders had previously been given to 
proceed to Trianon. When the carriages were an- 
nounced, he took his hat, and proceeded by the private 
staircase to the apartment of Josephine. She was 
alone. At the noise caused by the entrance of the 
emperor, she rose quickly, and threw herself, sobbing, 
on his neck : he held her to his breast, and embraced 
her several times ; but, overcome by her emotions, she 
fainted. As soon as she exhibited signs of returning 
sensation, the emperor, wishing to avoid the renewal 
of a scene of grief which he could not calm, placing 
her in the arms of an officer who had attended him, 
and who relates the occurrence, he withdrew rapidly 
to his carriage. Josephine immediately perceived 
his absence, and her sobs and moans increased. Her 
female attendants, who had come in, placed her on a 
couch. In her agony, she seized the hands of the 
officer, and besought him to tell the emperor not to 
forget her, and to assure him that her attachment 
would survive all contingencies. It was with difficulty 
that she suffered him to leave her, as if his absence 
severed the last link by which she still held to the 
emperor. 

Henceforward, the life of Josephine, passed either 



JOSEPHINE. 251 

at Malmaison or Navarre, offers but few incidents. 
The emperor would not suffer any change to be 
made in the regal state to which she had been accus- 
tomed at the Tuileries. Her household was on a scale 
of imperial magnificence. She continued to receive 
the visits, almost the homage, of the members of the 
court of Napoleon and Maria Louisa ; for it was 
quickly discovered, that, however unpleasant to her 
new rival, such visits were recommendations to the 
emperor's favor. The apartments in which the em- 
press received her guests were elegant, the furniture 
being covered with needle-work, wrought by the em- 
press and her ladies ; but the residence altogether was 
smdll — an inconvenience increased through Josephine's 
veneration of every thing that had been Napoleon's. 
The apartment he had occupied remained exactly as 
he had left it; she would not suffer a chair to be 
moved, and, indeed, very rarely permitted any person 
to enter, keeping the key herself, and dusting the 
articles with her own hands. On the table was a 
volume of histoiy, with the page doubled down where 
he had finished reading ; beside it lay a pen, with the 
ink dried upon the point, and a map of the world, on 
which he was accustomed to point out his plans to 
those in his confidence, and which still showed on its 
surface many marks of his impatience. These Jo- 
sephine would allow to be touched on no account. 
By the wall stood his camp-bed, without curtains ; 
above hung his arms ; on different pieces of furniture 
lay different articles of apparel, just as Napoleon had 
rlung them from him. 

It was long before the harassed feelings of Josephine 



252 



JOSEPHINE, 



were sufficiently calmed to take any interest in com- 
mon affairs. So severe had been her sufferings, that 
it was six months before her sight recovered from the 
effects of inflammation and swelling of the eyes. The 
first circumstance which produced something like a 
change for the better, was her removal to Navarre, the 
repairing of which became at once a source of amuse- 
ment and a means of benevolence. This once royal 
residence had suffered from the revolution, and was 
nearly in a state of dilapidation. The restoration of 
the buildings and grounds furnished employment to 
great numbers of people ; and Josephine, in addition to 
the pleasures of planting and agriculture, enjoyed the 
delight — to her more dear — of spreading comfort and 
fertility over a region where before reigned extreme 
misery. 

Her life at Navarre was now more agreeable to her, 
because free from the restraints of etiquette. Though 
constantly surrounded by the pomp of a court, her 
courtiers were for the most part old and valued friends, 
with whom she lived rather in society, than as mistress 
and dependants. She exhausted every means to ren- 
der their retreat agreeable to them — a retreat, how- 
ever, recompensed by salaries equal to those of the 
imperial court, and which conciliated Napoleon's ap- 
proval. Benevolence and kindliness of feeling were 
the leading traits of Josephine's character ; besides dis- 
tributing, by the hands of competent and pious persons, 
a large portion of her limited revenues in relieving 
distress wherever it occurred, she kept constantly 
about her a number of young ladies, orphans of 
ancient houses, now fallen into decay, to whom she 



JOSEPHINE. 253 

not only gave an accomplished education, but watched 
over their establishment in life with parental soli- 
citude. 

The first event of importance which broke in upon 
the tranquillity of Josephine's life, was the birth of the 
king of Rome. It happened that the whole household 
were at Evreux, at a grand entertainment, when the 
news reached that place. The party returned im- 
mediately to the palace, where Josephine had re- 
mained. " I confess," says a youthful member of 
the party, " that my boundless affection for Josephine 
caused me violent sorrow, when I thought that she 
who occupied her place was now completely happy. 
Knowing but imperfectly the grandeur of soul which 
characterized the empress, her absolute devotion to 
the happiness of the emperor, I imagined there must 
still remain in her so much of the woman as would 
excite bitter regret at not having been the mother of a 
son so ardently desired. I judged like a frivolous 
person, who had never known cares beyond those of 
a ball. On arriving at the palace, I learned how to 
appreciate one who had been so long the cherished 
companion, and always the true friend, of Napoleon. 
I beheld every face beaming with joy, and Josephine's 
more radiant than any. No sooner had the party 
entered than she eagerly asked for details. ' How 
happy,' said she, ' the emperor must be ! I rejoice 
that my painful sacrifice has proved so useful for 
France. One thing only makes me sad ; not having 
been informed of his happiness by the emperor him- 
self ; but then he had so many orders to give, so many 
congratulations to receive. Yes, ladies, there must be 
vl— 22 




MARIA LOUISA. 



JOSEPHINE. 255 

a fete to celebrate this event ; the whole city of 
Evreux must come to rejoice with us ; I can never 
have too many people on this occasion.' " 

The emperor's omission seems to have greatly 
pained Josephine ; for the same night she wrote him 
a delicate and touching letter, from which these are 
extracts : — 

" Sire, — Amid the numerous felicitations which 
you receive from every corner of Europe, can the 
feeble voice of a woman reach your ear, and will you 
deign to listen to her who has so often consoled your 
sorrows, and sweetened your pains, now that she 
speaks to you only of that happiness in which all your 
wishes are fulfilled ? Having ceased to be your wife, 
dare I felicitate you on becoming a father ? Yes, sire, 
without hesitation ; for my soul renders justice to yours, 
as you know mine. Though separated, we are united 
by a sympathy which survives all events. I should 
have desired to learn the birth of the king of Rome 
from yourself, and not from the cannons of Evreux ; 
but I know that your first attentions are due to the 
public authorities, to your own family, and especially 
to the fortunate princess who has realized your dearest 
hopes. She cannot be more devoted to you than I ; 
but she has been enabled to contribute more towards 
your happiness, by securing that of France. Not till 
you have ceased to watch by her bed, not till you are 
weary of embracing your son, will you take the pen 
to converse with your best friend. I wait." 

The next day, Eugene arrived, charged with a mes- 
sage from the emperor : " Tell your mother," said he, 
" that I am certain she will rejoice more than any one 



'256 JOSEPHINE. 

at my good fortune. I would have written to her al- 
ready, had I not been completely absorbed in looking 
at my son. I tear myself from him only to attend to 
the most indispensable duties. This evening I will 
discharge the sweetest of all — I will write to Jose- 
phine." Accordingly, about eleven o'clock the same 
evening, the folding-doors were opened in great form, 
and the announcement, " From the emperor," ushered 
in one of his own pages, bearer of a letter from Na- 
poleon. The empress retired to read this ardently-de- 
sired epistle ; and on her return it was easy to see that 
she had been weeping. The curiosity of her court 
was gratified by hearing various portions of the letter, 
which concluded in these words : " This infant, in con- 
cert with our Eugene, will constitute my happiness, 
and that of France." " Is it possible," said Josephine, 
" to be more amiable ? or could any thing be better 
calculated to soothe whatever might be painful in my 
thoughts at this moment, did I not so ardently love 
the emperor ? This uniting of my son with his own 
is worthy of him, who, when he wills, is the most 
delightful man in the world." 

From their separation, the correspondence between 
Napoleon and Josephine continued undiminished in 
respect and affection. Notes from the emperor ar- 
rived weekly, and he never returned from any jour- 
ney or long absence without seeing the " illustrious 
solitary." No sooner had he alighted, than a mes- 
senger, usually his own confidential attendant, was 
despatched to Malmaison : " Tell the empress I am 
well, and desire to hear that she is happy." In every 
thing Napoleon continued to evince for her the most 



JOSEPHINE, 257 

confiding tenderness. All the private griefs in which 
Josephine had shared, and the sorrows to which she 
had ministered, were still disclosed to her. He gave 
a further proof of it by allowing her frequently to see 
his son — a communication which the jealous temper of 
Maria Louisa would have sought to prevent, had it not 
been secretly managed. Josephine had so far com- 
plied with the wishes of the emperor as to attempt an 
intercourse with her successor. " But the latter," to 
use Josephine's own words, " rejected the proposal in a 
manner which prevented me from renewing it. I am 
sorry for it ; her presence would have given me no 
uneasiness, and I might have bestowed good counsel 
as to the best means of pleasing the emperor." 

The personal intercourse between Napoleon and 
Josephine was conducted with the most decorous at- 
tention to appearances. It ended in one hurried and 
distressful interview after the return of Napoleon 
from his disastrous Russian campaign. But in the 
midst of the tremendous struggle that followed, Na- 
poleon found leisure to think of her. His letters to 
her were more frequent and more affectionate than 
ever, while hers, written by every opportunity, were 
perused, under all circumstances, with a promptitude 
which showed clearly the pleasure or the consolation 
that was expected : in fact, it was observed that letters 
from Malmaison or Navarre were always torn rather 
than broken open, and read, whatever else might be 
retarded. 

On the approach of the allies to Paris, Josephine re- 
tired from Malmaison to Navarre. Her only pleasure, 
during the period of painful uncertainty which followed, 
a 22* 



258 JOSEPHINE. 

was to shut herself up alone, and read the letters she 
had last received from the emperor. A letter from 
him at last put an end to all uncertainty ; it announced 
his fall and his retirement to Elba. The perusal of it 
overwhelmed her with grief and consternation ; but, re- 
covering herself, she exclaimed, with impassioned en- 
ergy, " I must not remain here : my presence is neces- 
sary to the emperor. The duty is, indeed, more Maria 
Louisa's than mine ; but the emperor is alone, forsaken. 
I, at least, will not abandon him." Tears came to her 
relief. She became more composed, and added, " I 
may, however, interfere with his arrangements. I will 
remain here till I hear from the allied sovereigns. 
They will respect her who was the wife of Napoleon." 
Nor was she deceived. The Emperor Alexander 
sent assurances of his friendship, and the other allies 
united in a request that she would return to Malmai- 
son. Here every thing was maintained on its former 
footing. Her court, elegant as ever, was frequented 
by .the most distinguished personages of Europe. 
Among the earliest visitors was Alexander. Jose- 
phine received him with her wonted grace, and ex- 
pressed how much she felt on the occasion. " Mad- 
am," replied Alexander, " I burned with the desire 
of beholding you. Since I entered France, I have 
never heard your name pronounced but with benedic- 
tions. In the cottage and in the palace I have col- 
lected accounts of your goodness ; and I do myself a 
pleasure in thus presenting to your majesty the uni- 
versal homage of which I am the bearer." The 
king of Prussia also visited her, and she received 
attentions even from the Bourbons. Her children 



JOSEPHINE. 259 

were protected, and Eugene was offered his rank as 
marshal of France ; but he declined it. 

The health of Josephine, which had been under- 
mined by previous sufferings, sunk entirely under 
these new and agitating emotions. On the 4th of May, 
1814, she became, for the first time, decidedly ill. 
The Emperor Alexander was unremitting in his at- 
tentions to her, and to him her last words were ad- 
dressed. " I shall die regretted. I have always de- 
sired the happiness of France ; I did all in my power 
to contribute to it ; I can say with truth, that the first 
wife of Napoleon never caused a single tear to flow." 
She then sunk into a gentle slumber, from which she 
never awoke. 

The funeral procession, which was headed by repre- 
sentatives of the sovereigns of Russia and Prussia, and 
was composed of princes, marshals, and generals, the 
most celebrated in Europe, was closed by two thou- 
sand poor, who had voluntarily come to pay their last 
tribute to the memory of their benefactor and friend. 
The spot where her remains are buried is marked by 
a monument of white marble, bearing this simple, yet 
touching inscription : — 

" Eugene and Hortense to Josephine," 




MARIE ANTOINETTE AT THE SCAFFOLD. 



MARIE ANTOINETTE. 



Jeanne Josefhe Marie Antoinette, of Lorraine, 
archduchess of Austria, the unfortunate queen of 
Louis XVI. of France, was the daughter of Francis I. 
and Maria Theresa, and was born at Vienna, in 1755. 
She was educated with the utmost care, and nature 
had bestowed upon her the highest beauty of person'. 
Her accomplishments, talents, grace, virtue, and un- 
common loveliness, fitted her for the queen of a gal- 
lant nation ; and as such she would have been honored 
in France, had she lived before oppression had roused 
the people to madness. Her mother, in a letter to 
her future husband, after alluding to the care with 
which she had formed her mind, says, " Your bride, 
dear dauphin, is separated from me. As she has ever 
been my delight, so she will be your happiness. For 
this purpose, I have enjoined upon her, as among her 
highest duties, the most tender attachment to your 
person, the greatest attention to every thing that can 
please or make you happy. Above all things, I have 
recommended to her humility towards God, because 
I am convinced that it is impossible for us to secure 
the happiness of the subjects confided to us without 



262 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

love to Him who destroys the sceptres and the thrones 
of kings according to his will." 

The marriage took place at Versailles, May 16th, 
1770, and was celebrated with uncommon splendor ; 
but, immediately after the ceremony, a thunder-storm 
of unparalleled violence broke over the palace of 
Versailles, darkened the surrounding scenery, and 
struck terror into the hearts of the people for miles 
around. On May 30th, the festivities at Paris were 
saddened by a most terrible accident; a number of 
citizens being crushed to death in the Rue Royale, by 
some mismanagement on the part of the proper author- 
ities. Fifty-three persons were found dead, and three 
hundred more were dangerously injured. 

The magnanimity of Marie Antoinette displayed 
itself soon after her elevation to the throne, on the 
death of Louis XV. An officer of the body-guard, 
who had given her offence on some former occasion, 
expressed his intention of resigning his commission; 
but the queen forbade him. " Remain," said she ; 
" forget the past. Far be it from the queen of France 
to revenge the injuries of the dauphiness." She 
devoted herself to the interests of her people with an 
assiduity unparalleled in a sovereign of her age ; yet, 
becoming obnoxious to the court party, her character 
was assailed in every shape and quarter; she was 
accused of setting on foot conspiracies which never 
existed, and of entertaining views which never entered 
her mind. She was termed the Austrian, and it was 
openly asserted, as well as privately insinuated, that 
her heart was estranged from the country of her hus- 



MARIE ANTOINETTE-. 263 

band, and her mind solely occupied with the interests 
of her native land. 

In her conduct, there was matter for gentle reproof, 
but none for malevolent accusation. A gayety which 
sometimes degenerated into levity, a passion for fash- 
ionable novelties, and an undisguised contempt for 
court formalities, instead of being regarded as the 
foibles and imprudences of a young and innocent 
mind, were construed into evidences of the existence 
of loose principles, unbridled extravagance, and hatred 
for the nation. She was likewise charged with pettish- 
ness under reproof; and we can readily conceive how 
a female of so high a rank, conscious of the purity of 
h"er intentions, and perpetually assailed by reckless 
cavillers, assumed, in reply to the unworthy insinua- 
tions of her enemies, the tone which her virtue and her 
birth appeared to warrant. The affair of the diamond 
necklace created an extraordinary sensation. A jew- 
eller at Paris demanded payment for a necklace so 
costly that the finances of a queen would hardly war- 
rant its purchase. The result of an examination was 
the proof of the queen's integrity. 

On the 6th October, 1789, the mob broke into the 
palace of Versailles, murdered some of the body- 
guards, and threatened the queen in the most frightful 
language. At midnight, she received a letter from a 
friendly clergyman, advising her to seek safety in 
flight, as her life would be sacrificed early the next 
morning. She resolved to remain, and destroyed the 
warning letter. She heard the footsteps of the ruffian 
rabble ; she thought her time had come, but her life 
was saved. The progress of the ruffians was arrested 



264 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

at the very door of her chamber, where her faithful 
guardsmen laid down their lives to secure for their 
queen a retreat to the chamber of the king. The 
king and queen showed themselves, with their chil- 
dren, in the balcony. The mass of heads beneath for 
a moment ceased to be agitated ; but it was only for 
a moment. Silence was broken by a thousand tongues 
— "No children — no children! The queen! the 
queen alone ! " 

This was a trying moment ; but Antoinette had 
firmness for the crisis. Putting her son and daughter 
into her husband's arms, she advanced alone into the 
balcony. A spectacle like this filled the fierce people 
with admiration, and thundering sounds of " Vive la 
Heine ! " succeeded to the imprecations of the preced- 
ing moment. Such is the fickleness of a mob ! The 
march to Paris was a succession of terrors ! The 
heads of the two faithful guardsmen, elevated on pikes, 
met the eyes of the poor queen as she looked from 
her carriage windows. 

The fate of Antoinette darkened rapidly. With the 
king, she fled to Varennes — with him was brought 
back to Paris. Her courage did not fail in the scene 
of the Legislative Assembly, before which body she 
was present with her husband, heard his deposition 
pronounced, and then went into the Temple, where 
he was imprisoned. Here, where the light of heaven 
faintly fell through grated windows, surrounded by 
her family, she appeared to feel entire resignation to 
the will of Him on whom the happiness of the hum- 
blest individual depends. When she heard the con- 
demnation of the king from the lips of the royal 



MARIE ANTOINETTE. 265 

victim, she had the firmness to congratulate him on 
the speedy delivery from trouble that awaited him. 
Her eternal separation from her son did not shake 
her firmness, and, with a heart apparently unbroken, 
she was consigned to the loathsome depths of a dun- 
geon, August 5th, 1793. 

The accusations brought against the unhappy queen, 
on her trial, were all unfounded, and merely advanced * 
because her enemies had still respect enough for justice 
to mimic its forms in their guilty court. She was 
charged with having squandered the public money, 
and with leaguing in secret with the common enemies 
of France. The clearness of her innocence, the false- 
hood and frivolity of the witnesses, the eloquence of the 
defenders, and her own noble bearing, were of no 
avail : Marie Antoinette was doomed to die upon the 
scaffold. 

The expression of her countenance, as she passed to 
the place of execution, awed the bloodthirsty populace ; 
but the once matchless beauty of that noble countenance 
was gone forever. One unacquainted with the rav- 
ages of grief could not believe that the haggard and 
forsaken being whom they led to sacrifice, was the 
same young queen, who, a short time before, held in 
thrall the chivalry of France, by her exquisite loveli- 
ness, her winning grace, and sportive gayety. An- 
toinette cast back a long, last look at the Tuileries — 
a look which told of sorrowful remembrance and of 
agonizing emotion; then, with an air of dignified 
resignation, she ascended the scaffold. "My God," 
cried she, as she kneeled on that fatal platform, " en- 
lighten and affect my executioner ! Adieu, my chil= 
vi.— 23 



266 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

dren, my beloved ones : I am going to your father ! " 
Thus she perished, in her thirty-eighth year, October 
16th, 1793. 

In the gayety of youth and the sunshine of pros- 
perity, Marie Antoinette had exhibited some foibles 
amid many virtues. In the beginning of her trials, she 
displayed, as well as those around her, serious mistakes 
of judgment ; but in the dark hour of adversity, she 
exhibited a spectacle of truth, firmness, and dignity, 
hardly less than sublime. When confined with her 
family in the prison of the Temple, with only a glim- 
mering ray of light stealing through the iron bars, 
she displayed the utmost calmness, cheered all around 
with her counsel and example, and taught them to 
disregard privation, sickness, and suffering. 

When her husband told her that he was condemned 
to the scaffold, she congratulated him upon the speedy 
termination of an existence so painful, and the unper- 
ishing reward that should crown it. Before the Rev- 
olutionary Tribunal she was unabashed, and, when 
accused of a horrid crime, she put her traducers to 
shame by exclaiming, " I appeal to every mother here 
whether such an act be possible ! " In solitude, and in 
the depths of a damp and loathsome dungeon, where 
she was confined for weeks, she was still serene and 
uncomplaining. In parting with her son; in taking 
a last adieu of the palace which had witnessed her 
triumphs; in facing the scaffold, and the wretches 
around it ; and in bidding a final farewell to life, — 
Marie Antoinette evinced that patient, deep, and touch- 
ing heroism which a woman and a Christian alone can 
display. 



MADAME ROLAND. 



When, in May, 1793, Robespierre and the Mountain 
effected the final overthrow of the Girondists — the 
moderate party of the French revolutionists — M. Ro- 
land, who had recently resigned his office in the min- 
istry, was forced to flee, and his wife was thrown into 
prison. To solace the sad hours of her captivity, she 
began to write her own Memoirs. " I propose to my- 
self," she says, " to employ the leisure hours of my 
captivity in relating the history of my life, from my in- 
fancy to the present time. Thus to retrace the steps of 
one's career is to live a second time ; and what better can 
a prisoner do than, by a happy fiction, or by interesting 
recollections, to transport herself from her prison ? " 

Her Memoirs are dated at the " Prison of St. Pelagie, 
August 9th, 1793," and she thus commences : " Daugh- 
ter of an artist, wife of a philosopher, who, when a 
minister of state, remained a man of virtue; now a 
prisoner, destined, perhaps, to a violent and unexpected 
death, — I have known happiness and adversity; I 
have learned what glory is, and have suffered injustice. 
Born in an humble condition, but of respectable parents, 
I passed my youth in the bosom of the arts, and 
amidst the delights of study ; knowing no superiority 
but that of merit, no grandeur but that of virtue." 



268 



MADAME ROLAND, 



Her father, Gratien Philipon, was an engraver. 
During the early years of Manon's life, he was well 
off, employing many workmen under him. His wife 
possessed little of what is called knowledge, but she 
had a discerning judgment and a gentle and affection- 
ate disposition. By her example, as well as by the 
course of education which her disposition led her to 
pursue, she formed in her daughter the same gentle, 
feminine spirit which she herself possessed. 

" The wisdom and kindness of my mother," says 
Madame Roland, " quickly acquired over my gentle 
and tender character an ascendency which was used 
only for my good. It was so great that, in those slight, 
inevitable differences between reason which governs 
and childhood which resists, she had need to resort to 
no other punishment than to call me, coldly, Made- 
moiselle, and to regard me with a severe countenance. 
I feel, even now, the impression made on me by her 
look, which at other times was so tender and caress- 
ing. I hear, almost with shivering, the word made- 
moiselle substituted for the sweet name of daughter, 
or the tender appellation of Manon. Yes, Manon ; it 
was thus they called me : I am sorry for the lovers 
of romances, the name is not noble; it suits not a 
dignified heroine ; but, nevertheless, it was mine, and 
it is a history that I am writing. But the most fas- 
tidious would have been reconciled to the name, 
had they heard my mother pronounce it, or had 
they seen her who bore it. No expression wanted 
grace, when accompanied by the affectionate tone 
of my mother; when her touching voice penetrated 
my soul, did it teach me to resemble her ? Lively 



MADAME ROLAND. 269 

without being ever rompish, and naturally retiring, I 
asked only to be occupied, and seized with quickness 
the ideas which were presented to me. This disposi- 
tion was so well taken advantage of, that I do not re- 
member learning to read : I have heard that I did so 
before I was four years old, and that, after that time, 
nothing more was required than to supply me with 
books." 

Her passion for these was subjected to little gui- 
dance or control ; she read whatever chance threw in 
her way ; they were, for the most part, of a serious 
character — Locke, Pascal, Burlamaque, Montesquieu; 
relieved, however, by works on history, the poems of 
Voltaire, Don Quixote, and some of the popular ro- 
mances ; but, as these were few in number, she was 
compelled to read them often, and thus acquired a 
habit of thought. . "When she was nine years old, Plu- 
tarch's Lives fell in her way, and more delighted her 
than any romance or fairy tale. The book became 
her bosom companion; and from that moment, she 
says, " she dated the ideas and impressions which 
made her a republican without her knowing that she 
was becoming one." 

44 But this child, who was accustomed to read serious 
books, could explain the circles of the celestial sphere, 
could use the pencil and the graver, and at eight years 
old was the best dancer in a party of girls older than 
herself, assembled for a family festival. The same 
child was often called to the kitchen to prepare an 
omelette, wash herbs, or to skim the pot. This mix- 
ture of grave studies, agreeable exercise, and domes- 
tic cares, ordered and regulated by the wisdom of my 
23* 



270 MADAME ROLAND.. 

mother, rendered me fit for all circumstances, seemed 
to anticipate the vicissitudes of my fortune, and has 
aided me in bearing them. I feel nowhere out of 
place ; I can prepare my soup with as much ease as 
Philopemon cut wood, though no one seeing me 
would deem that such a task was fitted for me." 

The study of Plutarch and the ancient historians 
was not, perhaps, favorable to the happiness of 
Mademoiselle Philipon. She regretted that her lot 
had not been cast in a free state, which she had per- 
suaded herself was the only nursery of virtue, gen- 
erosity, and wisdom. She contrasted the state of 
society, as she saw it around her, with the ideal state 
of its existence in ancient Greece and Rome. She 
had once paid a visit of eight days to Versailles, and 
witnessed the routine of the court. How different 
were the weak and dissolute actors upon that tinsel 
and tawdry stage from the heroes and philosophers 
with whom she was wont, in imagination, to associate ! 
She "sorrowfully compared the Asiatic luxury, the 
insolent pomp, with the abject misery of the degraded 
people, who ran after the idols of their own creating, 
and stupidly applauded the brilliant shows for which 
they paid out of their own absolute necessaries." 
Sometimes she was taken to visit certain ladies who 
called themselves noble, and who, looking upon her as 
an inferior, sent her to dine with the servants. But 
their airs of condescending kindness were even yet 
more offensive, and made her bosom swell with indig- 
nant emotion. She acknowledges that this feeling 
made her hail the revolution with greater transport. 

The daughter of a prosperous tradesman, she had 



MADAME ROLAND, 271 

many suitors of her own rank ; but she had formed to 
herself a lean ideal of wedded life which none but 
a man of education could satisfy ; they were all re- 
jected. A physician proposed ; more refinement and 
knowledge was to be expected in the learned pro- 
fessions; she hesitated, but he also was rejected. In 
the mean time, her father's habits began to change ; 
he became a speculator, fond of pleasure and careless 
of his business. His speculations failed, and his cus- 
tomers left him. Her mother witnessed the approach 
of poverty with anxiety ; she feared for her daughter 
alone, for her own health was so feeble, that she could 
look only for a short term of life. She wished to see 
her daughter's happiness made as secure as possible, 
and tried to persuade her to accept the addresses of a 
young jeweller who had health and a good character 
to recommend him ; but Manon wished to find in her 
husband a companion and a guide. 

Her mother died ; and intense grief overwhelmed 
the daughter, both body and mind. It was long before 
she could be roused to any exertion from that mel- 
ancholy " which made her a burden to herself and 
others." At this moment, the " Nouvelle Heloise " 
was placed in her hands ; it excited her attention, and 
called her thoughts from her loss. "I was twenty- 
one," she says, "and Rousseau made the same im- 
pression on me as Plutarch had done when I was eight. 
Plutarch had disposed me to republicanism ; he had 
awakened the energy and pride which are its charac- 
teristics ; he inspired me with a true enthusiasm for 
public virtue and freedom. Rousseau showed me do- 
mestic happiness, and the ineffable felicity I was ca- 



272 MADAME ROLAND. 

pable of tasting." She now returned to her studies. 
Her friends, among whom she numbered some liter- 
ary men, finding that she committed her reflections 
to writing, predicted that she would become an au- 
thor. But she was not ambitious of public distinc- 
tion ; she had adopted the sentiment of Rousseau, 
that the " dignity of woman is in being unknown ; her 
glory, in the esteem of her husband ; her pleasures, 
in the happiness of her family." " I saw," says 
Madame Roland, " that an authoress loses more than 
she gains. My chief object was my own happiness, 
and I never knew the public interfere with that for 
any one without spoiling it; there is nothing more 
delightful than to be appreciated by those with whom 
one lives, and nothing so empty as the admiration of 
those whom we are never to meet." 

In her school-girl days, Manon had formed a friend- 
ship with a girl of her own age, named Sophia, and the 
intercourse was still kept up by letters. Sophia felt 
the highest admiration for her friend, and often spoke 
of it. Among those who, through her, became acquainted 
with Manon's character was M. Roland, a man whose 
great simplicity of character and strict integrity had 
gained for him universal esteem and confidence. His 
family was not of the ancient nobles, but of official dig- 
nity. He was fond of study, and laborious in the pursuit 
of knowledge. He had long sought for an introduction 
to Mademoiselle Philipon, and Sophia at length gave 
him a letter of introduction. " This letter," she writes, 
" will be given you by the philosopher I have often 
mentioned, M. Roland, an enlightened and excellent 
man, who can only be reproached for his great admi- 



MADAME ROLAND. 273 

ration of the ancients at the expense of the moderns, 
whom he despises, and his weakness in liking to talk 
too much about himself. 1 ' 

M. Roland's appearance was not calculated to make 
a favorable impression upon a young woman; his 
manners were cold and stiff; he was careless in his 
dress, and he had passed the meridian of life. But 
Mademoiselle Philipon discerned and appreciated his 
excellence, and received him to her friendship and 
confidence. For five years, this intercourse between 
them continued, before he disclosed to her the senti- 
ments of love which had been making a slow, but 
deeply-rooted, growth in his heart. His proposal of 
marriage was not distasteful to her ; but she was 
proud, and did not like to encounter the opposition 
which the match with a girl of humble birth would 
meet with from his family. Roland persisted in his 
addresses, and she at length referred him to her father. 
Philipon did not like the terms of his letter, and re- 
turned a rude answer, rejecting the proffered alliance. 

The result, though anticipated by Manon, was a 
great disappointment to her, and the manner in which 
her father had conducted, shocked her feelings. She 
had a great cause for anxiety in his general manage- 
ment ; his affairs were fast approaching utter ruin ; 
extreme poverty was before her; she resolved to se- 
cure her own independence, and purchased an annuity 
of about one hundred and twenty dollars. With this 
she hired a room in a convent, and lived upon the 
simplest food, which she prepared for herself: her 
wants were strictly limited by her means. 

Six months elapsed, and M. Roland once more pre- 

R 



274 MADAME ROLAND. 

sented himself to her at the convent. He renewed 
his offer, and it was accepted. " I reflected deeply," 
says Madame Roland, " on what I ought to do. I could 
not conceal from myself that a younger man would 
not have delayed, for several months, entreating me 
to change my resolution, and I confess this circum- 
stance had deprived my feelings of every illusion. I 
considered, on the other hand, that this deliberation 
was an assurance that I was appreciated ; and that, if 
he had overcome his pride, which shrunk from the 
disagreeable circumstances that accompanied his mar- 
rying me, I was the more secure of an esteem I 
could not fail to preserve. In short, if marriage was, 
as I thought, an austere union, an association in which 
the woman usually burdens herself with the happiness 
of two individuals, it were better that I should exert 
my abilities and my courage in so honorable a task, 
than in the solitude in which I lived." 

Such were the feelings with which she married. 
She was then twenty-six years old. She discharged 
with fidelity the duties she assumed. She was her 
husband's friend and companion, and soon became 
absolutely necessary to him. With him she visited 
England and Switzerland, and finally they took up 
their abode at the family mansion near Lyons. She 
had one child, a daughter ; and to educate her, and 
make her husband and those about her happy, was appa- 
rently to be the whole scope of her life. At this period, 
she writes to a friend, " Seated in my chimney corner, 
at eleven before noon, after a peaceful night and my 
morning tasks, — my husband at his desk, and my little 
girl knitting, — I am conversing with the former, and 



MADAME ROLAND. 275 

overlooking the work of the latter ; enjoying the hap- 
piness of being warmly sheltered in the bosom of my 
dear little family, and writing to a friend, while the 
snow is falling on so many poor wretches overwhelmed 
by sorrow and penury. I grieve over their fate. I 
repose on my own, and make no account of those 
family annoyances, which appeared formerly to tar- 
nish my felicity." 

The revolution came to disturb this peaceful exist- 
ence. At first she hailed it with joy ; but fears soon 
arose. " Is the question," she says, " to be whether 
we have one tyrant or a hundred ? " She attached 
herself zealously to that party which advocated lib- 
erty without anarchy. The confusion of the times 
proved destructive to the manufacturing interests of 
Lyons; twenty thousand workmen were thrown out 
of employment, and were without means of support. 
M. Roland was selected to proceed to Paris to make 
known the distresses to the National Assembly, and to 
solicit relief. 

The Girondists held opinions most in consonance 
with her own ; her house at Paris soon became the 
rendezvous of that party ; and her talents, beauty, and 
enthusiasm, insensibly procured for her a great in- 
fluence in their councils. A late historian thus speaks 
of her : " Roland was known for his clever writings 
on manufactures and mechanics. This man, of austere 
life, inflexible principles, and cold, repulsive manners, 
yielded, without being aware, to the superior ascen- 
dency of his wife. She was young and beautiful. 
Nourished in seclusion by philosophical and republican 
sentiments, she had conceived ideas superior to her 



276 MADAME ROLAND. 

sex, and had erected a strict religion from the then 
reigning opinions. Living in intimate friendship with 
her husband, she wrote for him, communicated her 
vivacity and ardor, not only to him, but to all the 
Girondists, who, enthusiastic in the cause of liberty and 
philosophy, adored beauty and talent, and their own 
opinions in her." But she carefully guarded against 
appearing to exert influence. Present at the councils 
held at her own house, she sat apart, and, apparently 
engaged in needle-work or in writing, took no part in 
the public deliberations ; but her opinions were freely 
expressed in private to the leaders of the party, who 
eagerly engaged with her in discussion. 

The flight of the king filled her with alarm ; his 
arrest and return to Paris excited new hopes ; she 
looked for safety only in his dethronement, and in the 
establishment of a republican form of government ; 
but for this she hardly dared hope. " It would be a 
folly, an absurdity, almost a horror," she writes to a 
friend at this time, " to replace the king on the throne. 
To bring Louis XVI. to trial, would doubtless be the 
greatest and most just of measures ; but we are in- 
capable of adopting it." 

At the end of seven months, Roland's mission ter- 
minated, and he returned to Lyons. But Madame 
Roland could no longer be happy in the quiet, domes- 
tic circle ; her discontent thus expresses itself in a 
letter to a friend, but, unwittingly perhaps, does not* 
assign it to the true cause : " I see with regret that 
my husband is cast back on silence and obscurity. 
He is habituated to public life ; his energy and activity 
injure his health when not exercised according to his 



MADAME ROLAND. 277 

inclinations ; in addition, I had hoped for great ad- 
vantages for my child in a residence at Paris. Oc- 
cupied there by her education, I should have excited 
and developed some sort of talent. The recluse life 
I lead here makes me tremble for her. From the 
moment that my husband has no occupation but his 
desks, I must remain near to amuse him, according to 
a duty and a habit which may not be eluded. This 
existence is exactly opposite to that suitable for a 
child of ten. My heart is saddened by this opposition 
of duties. I find myself fallen into the nullity of a 
provincial life, where no exterior circumstances supply 
that which I cannot do myself. If I believed my hus- 
band were satisfied, hope would embellish the pros- 
pect. However, our destiny is fixed, and I must try 
to render it as happy as I can." 

But the truth was, that her life at Paris had opened 
a new prospect to Madame Roland, and excited new 
desires in her bosom. Her activity and enthusiasm 
longed to employ themselves upon a grand theatre, 
and she panted to become great, as Plutarch's heroes 
were great, and to go down to posterity as one of 
the founders of her country's freedom. 

She was soon restored to the wished-for scene of 
action. In December, 1792, her husband was ap- 
pointed minister of the interior. She relates with 
great good-humor the surprise which her husband's 
plain, citizen-like costume excited at court. The mas- 
ter of ceremonies pointed him out to Dumoriez with 
an angry and agitated mien, exclaiming, " Ah, sir, no 
buckles to his shoes ! " " Ah, sir," replied Dumoriez, 
with mock gravity, " all is lost ! " 
vi.—- 24 



278 MADAME ROLAND, 

Two measures, which the liberal party deemed 
essential, were presented to the king by the ministry, 
but were rejected by him. The party urged the min- 
isters, as a body, to remonstrate ; but a majority de- 
clined. Madame Roland insisted that her husband 
should individually present a remonstrance, which she 
prepared for him ; it was couched in bold and mena- 
cing language, and rather calculated to irritate than to 
persuade the king. Roland read it to the king in full 
council ; he listened patiently to his minister's rebuke, 
but the next day dismissed him from his office. 

Satisfied with having discharged their duty to liberty, 
Roland and his wife felt no regret at the loss of office. 
They ceased to meddle with politics, and led a retired 
life, with the fearful anticipation that the intervention 
of foreign troops would soon put an end to all their 
hopes of constitutional freedom. Her appearance and 
manners at this period of her life are thus described 
by one who visited her : " Her eyes, her figure, and 
hair, were of remarkable beauty ; her delicate com- 
plexion had a freshness and color, which, joined to her 
reserved yet ingenuous appearance, imparted a singular 
air of youth. She spoke well, and without affectation ; 
wit, good sense, propriety of expression, keen reason- 
ing, natural grace, all flowing without effort from her 
rosy lips. Her husband resembled a Quaker, and she 
looked like his daughter. Her child flitted about her 
with ringlets down to her waist. She spoke of public 
affairs only, and I perceived that my moderation in- 
spired pity. Her mind was excited, but her heart 
remained gentle. Although the monarchy was not 
yet overturned, she did not conceal that symptoms of 



MADAME ROLAND. 279 

anarchy began to appear, and she declared herself 
ready to resist them to death. I remember the calm 
and resolute tone in which she declared that she was 
ready, if need were, to place her head on the block. 
I confess that the image of that charming head de- 
livered over to the axe of the executioner made an 
ineffaceable impression; for party excesses had not 
yet accustomed us to such frightful ideas." 

The fomenters of disturbance and the friends of 
anarchy were the party of the Mountain, at the head 
of which were Robespierre, Danton, Marat, &c. To 
this party the known moderation of Madame Roland 
made her peculiarly obnoxious. When, after the sus- 
pension of the royal authority, consequent on the 
events of the 10th of August, it was proposed in the 
National Convention to recall Roland to the ministry, 
one of the party exclaimed, " We had better invite 
madame ; she is the real minister.'" He was rein- 
stated in his office, and maintained for a short time an 
unflinching struggle with the anarchists ; but his efforts 
were not supported by others; and, wearied out, he 
tendered his resignation. The Mountain urged its ac- 
ceptance, but the only charges against him were com- 
plaints of his feebleness, and of his being governed by 
his wife. The Girondists yet held the ascendency in 
the Convention, and his resignation was not accepted. 
At the entreaty of his friends, he consented to remain, 
and wrote thus to the Convention : " Since I am ca- 
lumniated, since I am threatened by dangers, and since 
the Convention appear to desire it, I remain. It is too 
glorious that my alliance with courage and virtue is the 
only reproach made against me. 1 ' 



280 MADAME ROLAND. 

Madame Roland has herself offered an apology for 
her interference in the business of her husband. In 
the early days of their marriage, she had acted as his 
amanuensis, and had faithfully copied what he wrote. 
But the dryness of his style did not suit her taste, and 
she began to amend his writings. At length, having a 
perfect agreement in views and opinions with her hus- 
band, he entirely yielded up to her the pen. " I could 
not express any thing," she says, " that regarded rea- 
son or justice, which he was not capable of realizing or 
maintaining with his conduct ; while I expressed better 
than he could whatever he had done or promised to do. 
Without my intervention, Roland had been an equally 
good agent ; his activity and knowledge, as well as his 
probity, were all his own ; but he produced a greater 
sensation through me, since I* put into his writings that 
mixture of energy and gentleness, of authority and 
persuasion, which is peculiar to a woman of a warm 
heart and a clear head. I wrote with delight such 
pieces as I thought would be useful, and I took greater 
pleasure in them than I should have done had I been 
their acknowledged author. 

Roland continued his struggle against the Mountain, 
who were daily gaining strength. Although in a mi- 
nority in the Convention, they were all powerful with 
the mob ; and the knowledge of this, together with their 
menaces, induced some of the more timid Girondists to 
vote for their savage measures. Of the frightful state of 
affairs at Paris, Madame Roland thus writes to a friend : 
" We are under the knife of Robespierre and Marat. 
These men agitate the people, and endeavor to turn 
them against the Assembly and Council ; they have u 



MADAME ROLAND. 281 

little army, which they pay with money stolen from 
the Tuileries." Again she writes, " Danton leads all ; 
Robespierre is his puppet; Marat holds his torch 
and dagger ; this ferocious tribune reigns, and we are 
]iis slaves until the moment when we shall become his 
victims. You are aware of my enthusiasm for the 
revolution ; well, I am ashamed of it ; it is deformed 
by monsters, and become hideous. It is degrading to 
remain, but we are not allowed to quit Paris; they 
shut us up to murder us when occasion serves." 

At length, disheartened by his unavailing efforts to 
stem the tide of anarchy, Roland again resigned his 
office ; and, satisfied that remaining at Paris could be 
of no advantage to their country, he and his wife 
began their preparations for retiring to the country. 
Her illness caused a delay, and they were yet in Paris 
when the final overthrow of the Girondists left them 
no hope for safety but in flight. An order was issued 
by the Convention for the arrest of Roland : his wife 
resolved to appeal in person to the Assembly in his 
behalf. Veiled and alone, she hurried to the place of 
meeting. She was not admitted : she sent in a letter, 
soliciting to be heard ; but it received no attention. 
Sadly she left the national palace, sought out her hus- 
band, related to him her want of success, and then 
returned to make another effort to be heard. The 
Convention was no longer sitting. She returned 
home : her husband was in a place of security ; and, 
indifferent to her own fate, she resolved to await what- 
ever might happen. 

At a late hour of the night she retired to rest, but 
was soon roused by her servant, who announced to her 
24* 



2S2 MADAME ROLAND. 

that a party of soldiers had come to arrest her. The 
sanguinary shouts of the mob saluted her as she passed 
through the streets. " Shall I close the windows ? " 
said an officer who rode with her in the carriage. 
" No," replied she ; " innocence, however oppressed, 
will never assume the appearance of guilt. I fear the 
eyes of no one, and will not hide myself." "You have 
more firmness than most men," said the officer. 

Her plans for prison life were at once arranged : 
she asked and obtained a few books, Plutarch being 
of the number. The situation of the poorer class of 
prisoners exciting her pity, she restricted herself to 
the most abstemious diet, and distributed the money 
which she thus saved among them. 

At the end of about three weeks, a most cruel decep- 
tion was practised upon her. She was told that she 
was free, and left the prison ; but, on reaching home, 
she was again arrested, and carried to a new prison, 
in v/hich the lowest and most infamous criminals of 
both sexes were confined. A few hours 1 reflection 
restored the equanimity which this outrage had dis- 
turbed. " Had I not my books ? " she says ; " was I 
no longer myself ? I was almost angry at having felt 
disturbed, and thought only of making use of my life, 
and employing my faculties with that independence 
which a strong mind preserves even in chains, and 
which disappoints one's most cruel enemies." 

At first, she was confined in the midst of the most 
abandoned of her sex ; but, after a time, the wife of the 
jailer took compassion on her, and removed her to a 
more retired apartment. Nor did this humane woman 
stop here ; she sought in every way to soften the rigors 



MADAME ROLAND. 283 

of imprisonment. Jasmine was twined round the bars 
of her window ; a piano-forte was provided, with every 
comfort which her narrow quarters would allow. A 
few friends were allowed to visit her : she learned 
that her husband and child were in safety ; she be- 
came almost happy. But her quiet was soon dis- 
turbed. The visitor of the prison was angry at the 
comforts which she enjoyed ; equality must be pre- 
served, and he ordered her to be removed to a com- 
mon cell. 

At one period she meditated suicide. There was no 
accusation against her, and she saw herself left behind 
in the daily drafts for the guillotine. " Two months 
ago," she writes, " I aspired to the honor of ascending 
the scaffold . Victims were still allowed to speak, and 
the energy of great courage might have been of ser- 
/ice to truth. Now all is lost ; to live is basely to 
submit to a ferocious rule," But her purpose was 
changed when she found herself included in the act 
of accusation against the chief Girondists. She ex- 
pected to be examined before the Revolutionary Tri- 
bunal, and hoped to do some good by courageously 
speaking the truth. 

On the 31st of October, 1792, she was transferred 
to the prison of the Conciergerie, a yet more squalid 
place of confinement. Her examination commenced 
the next day, and was continued for several days. 
The charge against her was holding intercourse with 
the Girondists. Her defence, which was written out, 
but not spoken, is eloquent and full of feeling. She 
was, of course, declared guilty, and sentenced to be 
executed within twenty -four hours, 



284 MADAME ROLAND. 

Even during these few eventful days, she was not 
occupied entirely with self. Many of her hours were 
devoted to the consolation of her fellow-victims. She 
who was a prisoner with her thus speaks of her : 
" Perfectly aware of the fate that awaited her, her tran- 
quillity was not disturbed. Though past the bloom of 
life, she was yet full of attractions : tall, and of an ele- 
gant figure, her physiognomy was animated ; but sorrow 
and long imprisonment had left traces of melancholy 
in her face that tempered her natural vivacity. Some- 
thing more than is usually found in the eyes of woman 
beamed in her large, dark eyes, full of sweetness and 
expression. She often spoke to me at the grate with 
the freedom and courage of a great man. This repub- 
lican language, falling from the lips of a pretty woman, 
for whom the scaffold was prepared, was a miracle of 
the revolution. We gathered attentively around her 
in a species of admiration and stupor. Her conversa- 
tion was serious, without being cold. She spoke with 
a purity, a melody, and a measure, which rendered 
her language a sort of music, of which the ear was 
never tired. Sometimes her sex had the mastery, and 
we perceived that she had wept over the recollections 
of her husband and daughter. The woman who 
attended her said to me one day, 'Before you she 
calls up all her courage ; but in her room she some- 
times remains for hours leaning on the window, 
weeping.' " 

She was led to execution on the 10th of November. 
On the way she exerted herself to restore the failing 
fortitude of a fellow-sufferer, and won from him, it is 
said, two smiles. On arriving at the place of execu- 



MADAME ROLAND. 285 

tion, she bowed to the statue of Liberty, saying, " O 
Liberty, how many crimes are committed in thy 
name ! " She bade her companion ascend the scaffold 
first, that he might escape the pain of seeing her die. 
To the last, she preserved her courage and dignity of 
manner. 

The news of her death reached her husband at 
Rouen. He resolved not to outlive her. He doubted 
whether to surrender himself to the Revolutionary 
Tribunal, or to commit suicide. He decided on the 
latter course, in order to save for his child his property, 
which by law would be confiscated if he died by the 
judgment of a court. On the 15th of November, he 
was found dead on the road to Paris, four miles from 
Rouen. In his pocket was found a paper, setting forth 
the reasons for his death — "The blood that flows in 
torrents in my country dictates my resolve ; indigna- 
tion caused me to quit my retreat. As soon as I heard 
of the murder of my wife, I determined no longer to 
remain on the earth tainted by crime." 




MADAME DE SEVIGNE 



The subject of this memoir, as celebrated in her 
own particular department of literature as Shakspere 
or Moliere were in theirs, would have been very much 
surprised to find herself occupying a conspicuous place 
in the " Lives of Celebrated Women." She made no 
pretensions to authorship, and her "Letters," which 
have been esteemed models of epistolary composi- 
tion, are the unpremeditated and unrevised outpour- 
ings of a mind rich in wit and good sense, and a 
heart filled with the warmest affections, and were 
written without the slightest idea that they would ever 
be read by any other persons than those to whom they 
were addressed. 

Maria de Robertin-Chantal, Baroness de Chantal 
and Bombilly, was born on the 5th of February, 1626. 
Her father was the head of a distinguished and noble 
family of Burgundy. Of his rough wit and independ- 
ence his daughter has preserved a specimen. When 
Schomberg was transformed, by Louis XIIL, from a 
minister of finance to a field-marshal, Chantal wrote 
to him the following letter : — - 

' My Lord, 

" Rank — black beard — intimacy. 

"Chantal." — 



MADAME DE SEVIGNE. 287 

meaning that he owed his advancement, not to his 
military exploits, but to his rank, his having a black 
beard, like his master, and to his intimacy with that 
master. 

When Maria was about a year and a half old, the 
English made a descent upon the Island of Rhe ; and 
her father placed himself at the head of a party of 
gentlemen who volunteered to assist in repelling them, 
in which honorable service he lost his life. His widow 
survived him five years. She was the daughter of a 
secretary of state, and her family, that of De Cou- 
langes, belonged to the class of nobility who owed that 
distinction to civil services, and who were known as 
" nobles of the robe," to distinguish them from those 
who could trace their descent from the heroes of the 
crusades and the days of chivalry. 

It seems to have been expected that the paternal 
grandmother would have taken charge of the educa- 
tion of the little orphan. But she was too much oc- 
cupied with the affairs of the other world, and with 
founding religious houses, — of which eighty-seven 
owed their existence to her, — and Maria was left in 
the hands of her maternal relations. The pious labors 
of the " Blessed Mother of Chantal " were acknowl- 
edged by the head of the church, and her name now 
fills a place in the calendar, among the saints. The 
guardianship of the young baroness devolved on her 
uncle, Christophe de Coulanges, abbe de Livry. 

Most men would have shrunk from the task of per- 
sonally superintending the education of a young girl, 
and would, in conformity to the customs of the times, 
have consigned her to a convent, where she would 



288 MADAME DE SEVIGNE. 

have been taught to read, to write, to dance, and to 
embroider ; and then her education would have been 
deemed complete. It is no slight evidence of the good 
sense of her uncle that he retained her in his own 
house. The decision was a fortunate one for poster- 
ity ; for her faculties, which the formal training of the 
convent would have cramped, were called into exer- 
cise and expanded by an unusual indulgence in the 
range of reading, and probably by a familiar intercourse 
with the men of letters who sought her uncle's society. 
Under his instructions she doubtless acquired a knowl- 
edge of the Latin and Italian languages, and something 
of the Spanish. All this, however, is to some extent 
matter of inference, for we have no record of her early 
life. She tells us in her " Letters " that she was brought 
up at court, and there she formed her manners and her 
tastes — fortunately without the corruption of her morals. 

From the accounts given by her witty and profligate 
cousin Bussy-Robertin, we can obtain a tolerably cor- 
rect idea of her appearance when she entered as an 
actor upon the scene of life. She was somewhat tall 
for a woman ; had a good shape, a pleasing voice, 
a fine complexion, brilliant eyes, and a profusion of 
light hair ; but her eyes, though brilliant, were small, 
and, together with the eyelashes, were of different tints : 
her lips, though well colored, were too flat, and the 
end of her nose too square. De Bussy tells us that she 
had more shape than grace, yet danced well ; she had 
also a taste for singing. He makes to her the objection 
that she was too playful " for a woman of quality." 

Not beautiful, but highly attractive, of cordial man- 
ners, and with a lively sensibility, at one moment dis- 



MADAME DE SEVIGNE. 289 

solved in tears, and at another almost dying with 
laughter, — Mademoiselle de Robertin, then eighteen 
years old, was married to the Marquis de Sevigne, of 
an ancient family of Brittany. Her letters written 
during the first years of her marriage are full of gayety ; 
there is no trace of misfortune or sorrow. But her hus- 
band was fond of pleasure, extravagant in his expenses, 
heedless, and gay — a character not likely to escape 
the contagion of that universal depravity of manners 
which prevailed at the French court. His conduct 
threw a cloud over their happiness. Madame de Se- 
vigne bore her misfortunes with dignity and patience. 
In spite of his misconduct, she loved him deeply ; and 
his death, not long afterwards, in a duel, caused her 
the most profound sorrow. 

Her uncle, the abbe, resumed his former office of 
protector and counsellor. He withdrew her from the 
contemplation of her grief, and drew her attention tc 
her duties, the chief and dearest of which was the 
education of her two children, a son and a daughter. 
To this object, and to rendering the life of her uncle 
happy, she resolved to devote herself. Of her obliga- 
tions to her uncle she thus speaks in a letter written 
many years afterwards, on the occasion of his death : 
" I am plunged in sorrow : ten days ago I saw my 
dear uncle die ; and you know what he was to his dear 
niece. He has conferred on me every benefit in the 
world, either by giving me property of his own, or 
preserving and augmenting that of my children. He 
drew me from the abyss into which M. de Sevigne's 
death plunged me ; he gained lawsuits ; he put my 
affairs in good order ; he paid our debts ; he has made 
s vi.— 25 



290 MADAME DE SEVIGNE. 

the estate on which my son lives the prettiest and most 
agreeable in the world." 

Time restored to the young widow her lost gayety, 
and she was the delight of the circles in which she 
was intimate. The Hotel de Rambouillet, at Paris, 
where she resided, was the resort of all who were 
celebrated for wit or talent, and her presence was 
always hailed with joy. Euphuism was the fashion of 
the day, and in this coterie it had reached the highest 
degree of perfection. Common appellations were 
discarded ; water became " Vhumeur celeste" and a 
chaplet " une chaine spirituelle." The use of names 
was banished, and each was addressed as " ma chere " 
or " ma precieuse." " Les Precieuses Ridicules " of 
Moliere at length put an end to the affectation. Many 
of the coterie were present at its first representation, 
and were obliged to swallow the vexation which the 
delight evinced by the public at seeing them held up to 
ridicule, could not fail to excite. 

The early education of her children being com- 
pleted, their establishment in life became a source 
of anxiety. Her son, when nineteen, joined the 
expedition to Candia ; concerning which Madame de 
Sevigne writes to her cousin De Bussy, "I suppose 
you know that my son is gone to Candia. He men- 
tioned it to M. de Turenne, to Cardinal de Retz, and 
to M. de la Rochefoucauld. These gentlemen so ap- 
proved his design that it was resolved on and made 
public before I knew any thing of it. He is gone. I 
wept his departure bitterly, and am deeply afflicted. 
I shall not have a moment's repose during the expe- 
dition. I see all the dangers, and they destroy me ; 



MADAME DE SEVIGNE. 291 

but I am not the mistress. On such occasions mothers 
have no voice." She had reason for anxiety. Few of 
the officers returned, but one of these was the Baron 
de Sevigne. A commission was purchased for him 
in the army, and he served with distinction during 
several campaigns ; but his family had taken part 
against the court during the wars of the Fronde, and 
were Jansenists, so that he received no promotion, and 
at length left the army, and settled into a quiet, well- 
behaved, country gentleman. Rejecting many nice 
matches which his mother sought to make for him, he 
chose a wife for himself, and his choice fortunately 
met her approbation. 

Her daughter was presented at court, in 1663, and 
took part in the brilliant fetes of the following year. 
The mother's heart was, no doubt, gladdened by the 
declaration of the Count de Treville, a sort of oracle 
in the great world, " That beauty will set the world on 
fire." Her marriage became a subject of the deepest 
anxiety, and it was long before her mother was sat- 
isfied with any of those who pretended to the hand 
of " la plus jolie file de France" She at length ac- 
cepted the proposals of the twice-widowed Count de 
Grignan, and the event is thus announced to her 
cousin : " I must tell you a piece of news which will 
doubtless delight you. At length the prettiest woman 
in France is about to marry, not the handsomest youth, 
but the most excellent man in the kingdom. You have 
long known M. de Grignan. All his wives are dead, to 
make room for your cousin, as well as, through won- 
derful luck, his father and his son ; so that, being 
richer than he e^er was, and being, through his birth, 



292 MADAME DE SEVIGNE. 

his position, and his good qualities, such as we desire, 
we conclude at once. The public appears satisfied, 
and that is much, for one is silly enough to be greatly 
influenced by it." 

By marrying her daughter to a courtier, Madame de 
Sevigne hoped to secure her daughter's permanent 
residence near herself at Paris. The count, however, 
was deputy-governor of Provence, and received orders, 
soon after his marriage, to proceed to that distant 
province, where he continued to reside, with the ex- 
ception of occasional visits to Paris, during the re- 
mainder of his mother-in-law's life. The mother and 
daughter contrived to pass about half the time with 
each other, and, in the intervals, to keep up a conver- 
sation by means of constant epistolary correspond- 
ence, in which the former relates all the amusing 
gossip which would have been subject of discourse had 
they been together. To the mother's share of these 
conversations we are delighted listeners. She speaks 
of events which in themselves are trifling, and of per- 
sons of whom we never before heard ; yet she is never 
tedious. The vivacity of her intellect and the charms 
of her style give an interest to every thought and act. 
The task of selecting specimens is a difficult one ; all 
is worthy of transcription ; we will take those which 
throw the most light upon her character and mode 
of life. The following was written at an estate of 
her husband's, called " The Rocks," situated on the 
sea-coast of Brittany, where she delighted to pass her 
time : she had a love of the country, of nature, and of 
simple pleasures — a rare taste for a Frenchwoman of 
that age. Nothing pleased her more than the song of 



MADAME DE SEVIGN^. 293 

the nightingale, the cuckoo, and the thrush, during 
the early spring ; her writings are filled with her pas- 
sion for the birds and avenues of ' f Les Rochers." 
The letter is addressed, not to her daughter, but to her 
cousin, De Coulanges. 

"I write, my dear cousin, over and above, the stip- 
ulated fortnight communications, to advertise you that 
you will soon have the honor of seeing Picard ; and, 
as he is brother to the lackey of Madame de Cou- 
langes, I must tell you the reason why. You know 
that Madame the Duchess de Chaulnes is at Vitre ; 
she expects the duke there, in ten or twelve days, 
with the states of Brittany. Well, and what then ? 
say you. I say that the duchess is expecting the duke 
with all the states, and that meanwhile she is at Vitre 
all alone, dying with ennui. And what, return you, 
has this to do with Picard ? Why, look ; she is dying 
with ennui, and I am her only consolation ; and so you 
may readily conceive that I carry it with a high hand. 
A pretty roundabout way of telling my story, I must 
confess ; but it will bring us to the point. Well, then, 
as I am her only consolation, it follows that, after I 
have been to see her, she will come to see me, when, 
of course, I shall wish her to find my garden in good 
order — those fine walks of which you are so fond. 
Still you are at a loss to conceive whither they are 
leading you now. Attend, then, if you please, to a 
little suggestion by the way. You are aware that 
haymaking is going forward ? Well, I have no hay- 
makers ; I send into the neighboring fields to press 
them into my service ; there are none to be found ; 
and so all my own people are summoned to make hay 
25* 



£94 Madame de" s£vig-ne\ 

instead. But do you know what haymaking is ? I 
will tell you. Haymaking is the prettiest thing in the 
world. You play at turning the grass over in a 
meadow; and as soon as you know how to do that, 
you know how to make hay. The whole house went 
merrily to the task, all but Picard : he said he would 
not go ; that he was not engaged for such work ; that 
it was none of his business ; and that he would sooner 
betake himself to Paris. Faith! didn't I get angry? 
It was the hundredth disservice the silly fellow had 
done me. I saw he had neither heart nor zeal; in 
short, the measure of his offence was full. I took 
him at his word ; was deaf as a rock to all entreaties 
in his behalf; and he has set off. It is fit that people 
should be treated as they deserve. If you see him, 
don't welcome him ; don't protect him ; and don't 
blame me. Only look upon him as, of all servants 
in the world, the one least addicted to haymaking, and 
therefore the most unworthy of good treatment. This 
is the sum total of the affair. As for me, I am fond 
of straightforward histories, that contain not a word 
too much ; that never go wandering about, and begin- 
ning again from remote points ; and, accordingly, I 
think I may say, without vanity, that I hereby present 
you with a model of an agreeable narration." 

We will now go with her to Paris, and listen to a 
little of her gossip with her daughter. 

" Paris, March 13th. 
" Behold me, to the delight of my heart, all alone 
in my chamber, writing to you in tranquillity. Noth- 
ing gives me comfort like being seated thus. I dined 



MADAME DE S£>IGN£\ 295 

to-day at Madame de Lavardin's, after having been to 
hear Bourdaloue, where I saw the mothers of the 
church ; for so I call the Princesses de Conti and 
Longueville. All the world was at the sermon, and 
the sermon was worthy of all that heard it. I thought 
of you twenty times, and wished you as often beside 
me. You would have been enchanted to be a listener, 
and I should have been tenfold enchanted to see you 
listen. * * * 

" We have been to the fair, to see a great fright of a 
woman, bigger than Biberpre by a whole head. * * * 
And now, if you fancy all the maids of honor run mad, 
you will not fancy amiss. Eight days ago, Madame 
de Ludre, Coetlogon, and little De Rouvroi were bitten 
by a puppy belonging to Theobon, and the puppy has 
died mad ; so Ludre, Coetlogon, and De Rouvroi set 
off this morning for the coast, to be dipped three times 
in the sea. 'Tis a dismal journey. Benserade is in 
despair about it. Theobon does not choose to go, 
though she had a little bite too. The queen, however, 
objects to her being in waiting till the issue of the 
adventure is known. Don't you think Ludre resem- 
bles Andromeda ? For my part, I see her fastened 
to the rock, and Treville coming, on a winged horse, 
to deliver her from the monster. * * * Ah, Bourda- 
loue ! what divine truths you told us to-day about 
death ! Madame de la Fayette heard him for the first 
time in her life, and was transported with admiration. 
She is enchanted with your remembrances. * * * A 
scene took place yesterday at Mademoiselle's, which I 
enjoyed extremely. In comes Madame de Gevres, 
full of her airs and graces. She looked as if she 



296 MADAME DE SEVlGNE. 

expected I should give her my post; but, 'faith, I 
owed her an affront for her behavior the other day, 
so I didn't budge. Mademoiselle was in bed ; Madame 
de Gevres was therefore obliged to go lower down ; 
no very pleasant thing that ! Mademoiselle calls for 
drink ; somebody must present the napkin ; Madame 
de Gevres begins to draw off the glove from her skinny 
hand ; I gave a nudge to Madame d'Arpajou, who was 
above me ; she understands me, draws off her glove, 
and, advancing a step with a very good grace, cuts 
short the duchess, and takes and presents the napkin. 
The duchess was quite confounded ; she had made 
her way up, and got off her gloves, and all to see the 
napkin presented before her by Madame d'Arpajou ! 
My dear, I am a wicked creature ; I was in a state of 
delight; and indeed what could have been better 
done ? Would any one but Madame de Gevres have 
thought of depriving Madame d'Arpajou of an honor 
which fell so naturally to her share, standing as she 
did by the bedside ? It was as good as a cordial to 
Madame de Puisieux. Mademoiselle did not dare to 
lift up her eyes ; and, as for myself, I had the most 
good-for-nothing face ! " 

Who this Mademoiselle was, Madame de Sevigne 
shall herself tell. The following, one of the most 
curious of her letters, is addressed to her cousin, De 
Coulanges : " I am going to tell you a thing, which, 
of all things in the world, is the most astonishing, the 
most surprising, the most marvellous, the most mirac- 
ulous, the most triumphant, the most bewildering, the 
most unheard-of, the most singular, the most extraor- 
dinary, the most incredible, the most, unexpected, the 



MADAME DE SEVIGNE. 297 

most exalting, the most humbling, the most rare, the 
most common, the most public, the most private, — till 
this moment, — the most brilliant, the most enviable, 
in short, a thing of which no example is to be found 
in past times ; at least, nothing quite like it ; — a thing 
which we do not know how to believe in Paris ; how, 
then, are you to believe it at Lyons ? a thing which 
makes all the world cry out, ' Lord, have mercy on us ! ' 
a thing which has transported Madame de Rohan and 
Madame d'Hauterive ; a thing which is to be done on 
Sunday, and yet perhaps will not be completed till 
Monday. I cannot expect you to guess it at once. I 
give you a trial of three times ; do you give it up? 
Well, then, I must tell you. M. de Lauzun is to 
marry, next Sunday, at the Louvre ; guess whom. I 
give you four times to guess it ; I give you six ; I give 
you a hundred. ( Truly,' cries Madame de Coulanges, 
' it must be a very difficult thing to guess ; 'tis Mad- 
ame de la Valliere.' ' No, it isn't, madame.' i 'Tis 
Mademoiselle de Retz, then.' i No, it isn't, madame ; 
you are terribly provincial.' ' O, we are very stupid, 
no doubt,' say you ; ' 'tis Mademoiselle Colbert.' 
Farther off than ever. ' Well, then, it must be Made- 
moiselle de Crequi ? ' You are not a bit nearer. 
Come, I see I must tell you at last. Well, M. de 
Lauzun marries, next Sunday, at the Louvre, with 
the king's permission, Mademoiselle — Mademoiselle 
de — Mademoiselle de — guess the name ! — he mar- 
ries " Mademoiselle," — the great Mademoiselle ; 
Mademoiselle, the daughter of the late Monsieur ; 
Mademoiselle, granddaughter of Henry the Fourth ; 
Mademoiselle d'Eu, Mademoiselle de Dombes, Ma= 



298 MADAME DE SEVIGNE. 

demoiselle de Montpensier, Mademoiselle d'Orleans, 
Mademoiselle, cousin of the king, Mademoiselle, des- 
tined to the throne, Mademoiselle, the only woman in 
France fit to marry Monsieur ! Here's pretty news 
for your coteries ! Exclaim about it as much as you 
will ; let it turn your heads ; say, we ' lie,' if you 
please ; that it's a pretty joke ; that it's ' tiresome ; ' 
that we are a ' parcel of ninnies ; ' we give you leave ; 
we have done just the same to others. Adieu ! The 
letters that come by the post will show whether we 
have been speaking truth or not." 

Once more with her to Paris, and listen to the 
graphic description which she gives her daughter of 
the French court: — 

" Paris, Wednesday, July 24th, 1676. 

" We have a change of the scene here, which will 
gratify you as much as it does all the world. I was 
at Versailles last Saturday with the Villarses. You 
know the queen's toilet, the mass, and the dinner? 
Well, there is no longer any need of suffocating our- 
selves in a crowd to get a glimpse of their majesties 
at table. At three, the king, the queen, monsieur, 
madame, mademoiselle, and every thing else which 
is royal, together with De Montespan and train, and all 
the courtiers, and all the ladies, all, in short, which 
constitutes the court of France, is assembled in that 
beautiful apartment of the king's which you remember. 
All is furnished divinely ; all is magnificent. Such a 
thing as heat is unknown ; you pass from one place to 
another without the slightest pressure. A game at 
reversis gives the company a form and a settlement. 



MADAME DE SEVIGNE. 299 

The king and Madame de Montespan keep a bank 
together ; different tables are kept by monsieur, the 
queen, Dangeau and party, &c. ; every where you see 
heaps of Louis oVors ; they have no counters. I saw 
Dangeau play, and thought what fools we were beside 
him. He dreams of nothing but what concerns the 
game ; he wins where others lose ; he neglects nothing, 
and profits by every thing; never has his attention 
diverted ; in short, his science bids defiance to chance. 
Two hundred thousand francs in ten days — a pretty 
memorandum to put down in his pocket-book! He 
was kind enough to say that I was partner with him, 
so that I got an excellent seat. I made my obeisance 
to the king, as you told me ; and he returned it as if I 
had been young and handsome. The queen talked to 
me about my illness ; the duke said a thousand pretty 
things, without minding a word he uttered. Marechal 
de Lorges attacked me in the name of the Chevalier 
de Grignan; in short, all the company. You know 
what it is to get a word from every body you meet. 
Madame de Montespan talked to me of Bourbon, and 
asked me how I liked Vichi, and whether the place did 
me good. She said that Bourbon, instead of curing 
the pain in one of her knees, did mischief to both. 
Her size is reduced one half, and yet her complexion, 
her eyes, and her lips, are as fine as ever. She was 
dressed all in French point, her hair in a thousand 
ringlets, the two side ones hanging low on her cheeks, 
black ribbons on her head, pearls, — the same that be- 
longed to Madame de PHopital, — the loveliest dia- 
mond ear-rings, three or four bodkins, nothing" else on 
the head ; in short, a triumphant beauty, worthy the ad- 



300 MADAME DE SEVIGNE. 

miration of all foreign ambassadors. She was accused 
of preventing the whole French nation from seeing the 
king ; she has restored him, you see, to their eyes ; and 
you cannot conceive the joy it has given all the world, 
and the splendor it has thrown upon the court. This 
charming confusion, without confusion, of all which is 
the most select, continues from three to six. If cou- 
riers arrive, the king retires a moment to read the 
despatches, and returns. There is always some music 
going on, to which he listens, and which has an excel- 
lent effect. He talks with such of the ladies as are 
accustomed to enjoy that honor. In short, they leave 
play at six ; there is no trouble of counting, for there 
is no sort of counters ; the pools consist of five or six 
Louis ; the bigger one, of a thousand or twelve hundred. 
Talking is incessantly going on, and there is no end of 
hearts. l How many hearts have you ? ' i I have two ; ' 
1 1 have three ; ' and Dangeau is delighted with all this 
chatter ; he sees through the game ; he draws his con- 
clusions ; he discovers which is the person he wants : 
truly he is your man for holding the cards. At six the 
carriages are at the door. The king is in one of them, 
with Madame de Montespan, Monsieur and Madame de 
Thianges, and honest D'Heudicourt, in a fool's para- 
dise on the stool. You know how these open carriages 
are made ; they do not sit face to face, but all looking 
the same way. The queen occupies another, with the 
princess ; and the rest come flocking after, as it may 
happen. There are then gondolas on the canal, and 
music ; and at ten they come back, and then there is a 
play ; and twelve strikes, and they go to supper ; and 
thus rolls round the Saturday." 



MADAME DF. SEVIGN&, 301 

And thus rolled round every day ; and to support 
this wanton and profligate expenditure of money, the 
people were ground to the dust with taxes. Nothing 
can more strongly mark the general debasement of 
sentiment, than that Madame de Sevigne, a woman 
whose character the breath of slander had never ven- 
tured to asperse, should describe this scene without 
one word of reprobation, but, on the contrary, should 
conclude with a wish that this season of happiness at 
the court may endure. 

The following extract seems to show that she 
had a yearning for something better in the midst of 
this idle dissipation — though the terms in which she 
expresses herself are far from commendable : " I 
wish I could be religious. I plague La Moresse — 
the abbe — about it everyday. I belong at present 
neither to God nor devil ; and I find this condition 
very uncomfortable ; though, between you and me, 
I think it the most natural in the world. One does 
not belong to the devil, because one fears God, and 
has at bottom a principle of religion ; but then, on 
the other hand, one does not belong to God, be- 
cause his laws appear hard, and self-denial is not 
pleasant. Hence the great number of the luke- 
warm, which does not surprise me at all ; I enter per- 
fectly into their reasons ; only God, you know, hates 
them, and that must not be. But there lies the diffi- 
culty. Why must I torment you with these rhap- 
sodies ? My dear child, I ask your pardon, as they 
say in these parts. I rattle on in your company, and 
forget every thing else in the pleasure of it. Don't 
make me any answer. Send me only news of your 
health, with a spice of what you feel at Grignan, that 
vi.— 26 



302 MADAME DE SEVIGnS. 

I may know you are happy ; that is all. Love me. 
We have turned the phrase into ridicule ; but it is nat- 
ural ; it is good." 

Perhaps she was led into these reflections by her 
admiration for the beautiful Duchess de Longueville, 
who, from having been " the greatest of sinners, became 
the greatest of saints : " a princess of the blood royal, — 
a leader in all the dissolute scenes which characterized 
the wars of the Fronde, — she voluntarily retired to a 
convent, where she practised all those austerities, by 
which the pious Catholic believed he might atone for 
past transgressions. Of the sincerity of her conver- 
sion she gave repeated testimonies, and Madame de 
Sevigne ever speaks of her with the greatest venera- 
tion and respect. That she had too much good prac- 
tical sense to be deceived by those who sought by the 
excitement of religious rites to make up for the loss of 
the excitements of pleasure, or who assumed the garb 
of religion in mere compliance with the fashion which 
prevailed at court, under the rule of Madame de 
Maintenon, is apparent from the light tone of the fol- 
lowing passage : " Madame de T. wears no rouge, 
and hides her person, instead of displaying it. Under 
this disguise it is difficult to know her again. I was 
sitting next her at dinner the other day, and a servant 
brought her a glass of vin de liqueur ; she turned to 
me, and said, 'This man does not know that I am 
devote? This made us all laugh, and she spoke very 
naturally of her changes, and of her good intentions. 
She now minds what she says of her neighbors, and 
stops short in her recitals, with a scream at her bad 
habits. There are bets made that Madame d'H. will 
not be devote within a year, and that she will resume 



MADAME DE SEVIGNE. 303 

her rouge. This rouge is the law and the prophets, 
and on this rouge turns the whole of the Christian 
religion." 

Tested by the morality of our day, Madame de 
Sevigne could not claim a very exalted character : 
yet we are bound to mention one trait, which hon- 
orably distinguishes her from her contemporaries. 
Louis XIV., for the purpose of reducing the power of 
his nobles, systematically encouraged them in the most 
boundless extravagance, of which he himself set them 
the example. The natural consequence followed ; 
they became inextricably involved in debts, with so 
little idea of ever paying them, that the conduct of the 
Cardinal de Retz, who sought to atone for early ex- 
cesses by retiring to the country, and husbanding his 
resources for this purpose, excited universal wonder, 
and was too extraordinary to be generally credited. 
Madame de Sevigne fully appreciated the propriety of 
this conduct of De Retz, and bestows upon it many 
commendations. When such were the sentiments of 
her mother, it is not a little surprising to hear of a poor 
milliner, whose necessities compelled her to undertake 
a journey of five hundred miles, from Paris to Pro- 
vence, to collect a debt from Madame de Grignan, being 
dismissed without her money, and being told in sub- 
stance, if not in words, that she might thank her good 
fortune that she did not make her exit through the 
window — a summary mode of cancelling debts, often 
threatened, if not executed, when creditors were impor- 
tunate. Nor were Madame de Sevigne's mere pro- 
fessions. The occasion arose which tried her principles. 
The extravagance of her husband left her with estates 



304 MADAME DE SEVIGNE. 

encumbered with debts; the education and mainte- 
nance of her children were expensive ; her son's 
commission in the army was purchased at a high 
price ; her rents were not paid with punctuality, and 
she was obliged to remit large debts to her tenants. 
From all these causes, she found herself, at the age of 
fifty-eight, involved in debts, which nothing but a retire- 
ment from Paris, and the practice of a rigid economy, 
would enable her to pay. She did not hesitate to 
withdraw herself from her beloved society in Paris, 
and to retire to " The Rocks." The sacrifice was ren- 
dered more complete by the fact that her daughter 
was at that time residing at Paris. Her absence was 
felt bitterly by her friends, and she was at once mor- 
tified and gratified by the offer of a loan of money to 
facilitate her return. Madame de la Fayette wrote to 
make her the proposition : " You must not, my dear, 
at any price whatever, pass the winter in Brittany. 
You are old ; ' The Rocks ' are thickly wooded ; colds 
will destroy you ; you will get weary ; your mind will 
become sad, and lose its tone : this is certain ; and all 
the business in the world is nothing in comparison. 
Do not speak of money nor of debts ; " and then fol- 
lows the proposal. Madame de Sevigne declined the 
offer, being unwilling to incur the obligation. Con- 
ceived with all possible kindness, there was a sting in 
the letter which Madame de Sevigne confesses to her 
daughter, that she felt. " You were, then, struck 
by Madame de la Fayette's expression mingled with so 
much kindness. Although I never allow myself to for- 
get this truth, I confess I was quite surprised ; for as yet 
I feel no decay to remind me of it. However, I often 



MADAME DE SEVIGNE. 305 

reflect and calculate, and find the conditions on which 
we enjoy life very hard. It seems to me that I was 
dragged, in spite of myself, to the fatal term when one 
must suffer old age. I see it — am there. I should 
at least like to go no farther in the road of decrep- 
itude, pain, loss of memory, and disfigurement, which 
are at hand to injure me. I hear a voice that says, 
4 Even against your will you must go on ; or, if you 
refuse, you must die ; ' which is another necessity from 
which nature shrinks. Such is the fate of those who 
go a little too far. What is their resource ? To think 
of the will of God, and the universal law ; and so 
restore reason to its place, and be patient. Be you, 
then, patient, my dear child, and let not your affection 
soften into such tears as reason must condemn." 

As Madame de Sevigne would not return to Paris, 
her friends heard with pleasure that she had resolved 
to go to Grignan, the residence of her daughter in 
Provence. Here the greater part of her remaining 
life was spent, and the correspondence with her daugh- 
ter entirely ceases from this time. Madame de Se- 
vigne died, after a sudden and short illness, in April, 
1696, at the age of seventy. 

It may gratify some to know that the letters of 
Madame de Sevigne were apparently written in haste, 
beginning the writing on the second page of the paper, 
continuing to the third and fourth, and returning to the 
first : she used neither sand nor blotting-paper. Speak- 
ing to her daughter, Madame de S. says, " The princess 
is always saying that she is going to write to you ; she 
mends her pens ; for her writing is a great affair, and 
her letters a sort of embroidery ; not done in a mo- 
t 26* 



306 MADAME DE SEVIGNE. 

meat. We should never finish, were we to make fine 
twists and twirls to our D's and Us ; " in allusion to 
the German and Italian fashion of the day of making 
ornaments with their pens, called lacs d? amour. The 
letters were sealed on both sides, and a piece of white 
floss silk fastened it entirely round. 

Of the English admirers of Madame de Sevigne, 
the most distinguished and the most warm in the ex- 
pression of their admiration are Horace Walpole and 
Sir James Mackintosh, men of totally opposite turns 
of mind ; the former a professed wit, and himself a 
letter- writer, the latter a grave lawyer and statesman. 
We conclude this memoir by giving the character of 
Madame de Sevigne as drawn by the latter. " The 
great charm of her character seems to me a natural 
virtue. In what she does, as well as in what she says, 
she is unforced and unstudied ; nobody, I think, had so 
much morality without constraint, and played so much 
with amiable feelings without falling into vice. Her 
ingenious, lively, social disposition gave the direction 
to her mental power. She has so filled my heart with 
affectionate interest in her as a living friend, that I can 
scarcely bring myself to think of her as a writer, or as 
having a style ; but she has become a celebrated, 
perhaps an immortal writer, without expecting it : she 
is the only classical writer who never conceived the 
possibility of acquiring fame. Without a great force 
of style, she could not have communicated those feel- 
ings. In what does that talent consist? It seems 
mainly to consist in the power of -working bold meta- 
phors, and unexpected turns of expression, out of the 
most familiar part of conversational language." 



MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS 



In December, 1542, Mary Stuart, daughter of James 
V. of Scotland, then seven days old, succeeded to the 
throne of a kingdom rent by religious and political fac- 
tions, and suffering from the consequences of a disas- 
trous war with England. 

The union of Scotland to England had ever been a 
favorite project with English sovereigns, and the pres- 
ent seemed to Henry VIII. a favorable opportunity for 
peaceably effecting it. He lost no time, therefore, in 
proposing a match between the infant queen and his 
own son, Edward. His proposal found little favor ; 
the haughty nobles could not endure to see their 
country become a mere province of England ; and 
the queen mother and her religious advisers feared for 
the security of the Catholic religion. Henry xnight, 
however, have ultimately succeeded, had he acted with 
prudence. But he sought to terrify the Scots into sub- 
mission ; and those who succeeded to the government 
of England upon his death, which happened soon after, 
persisted in the same policy. An army was sent into 
Scotland, to ravage the country and pillage the towns 
and villages. This mode of wooing did not suit the 
temper of the Scots ; and an end was soon put to all 
hopes by the negotiation of a marriage treaty between 




MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS, AT WINFIELD CASTLE, 



MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 309 

the queen and Francis, the infant dauphin of France. 
In pursuance of this treaty, Mary, then in her sixth 
year, was sent to France to be educated. She was at 
first placed in a convent with the king's daughters, 
where she made a rapid progress in all the accomplish- 
ments they attempted to teach her. Here her enthusi- 
astic disposition was so strongly impressed with religious 
feelings, and she evinced such a fondness for a clois- 
tered life, that it was thought proper to remove her to 
the gayer scenes of the court — a change which cost her 
torrents of tears. The fashion for learning prevailed 
at this time, and Mary profited by it. Her instructors 
were the most eminent men of the time ; Buchanan 
taught her Latin ; Pasquier instructed her in history ; 
Ronsard, the most famous of the early French poets, 
cultivated her taste for poetry : they found her not only 
a willing but an able pupil. Other accomplishments 
were not neglected ; she sung, and played on the lute 
and the virginals ; she rode on horseback fearlessly, 
yet with feminine grace ; her dancing was always ad- 
mired ; and we are assured that in the Spanish minuet 
she was equalled only by her aunt, the beautiful Anne 
of Este, and no lady of the court could eclipse her in 
a galliarde. Her beauty and the charming expression 
of her countenance were such, that, as a contemporary 
asserts, " no one could look upon her without loving 
her." When her mother came over to visit her in 
1550, she burst into tears of joy, and congratulated 
herself on her daughter's capacity and loveliness. 
Soon after Mary's marriage to Francis, in 1558, Eliz- 
abeth ascended the English throne ; the pope, and the 
French and Spanish courts, refused to acknowledge 



310 MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 

her ; and Mary, undisputably the next heir, was com* 
pelled by the commands of her father-in-law to assume 
the title and arms of queen of England — a measure 
of unforeseen but fatal consequences to her, as it 
added fresh fuel to the fires of envy, jealousy, and 
hatred, which the personal advantages of Mary had 
already excited in the bosom of her vain and vindictive 
rival. 

In 1558, Francis and Mary were crowned king and 
queen of France. Francis survived this event but a 
few months. He was far inferior to his wife, both in 
personal and mental accomplishments ; he was of 
sickly constitution, and very reserved ; but he had an 
affectionate and kind disposition. He was not a man 
to call forth the deepest and most passionate feelings 
of such a heart as Mary's ; but she ever treated him 
with tenderness and most respectful attention. She is 
described by an eye-witness as a " sorrowful widow," 
and lamented her husband sincerely. 

The happiness of Mary's life was now at an end. 
She was a stranger in the land of which she had so 
recently been crowned queen. In the queen mother, 
the ambitious Catherine de Medicis, who now ruled 
France in the name of her son Charles IX., Mary had 
an inveterate foe. In the reign of Francis they had 
been rivals for power, when the charms of the wife 
had triumphed over the authority of the mother. 
There was another wound which had long rankled in 
the vindictive bosom of Catherine. In the artlessness 
of youth, Mary had once boasted of her own descent 
from a " hundred kings," which was supposed to 
reflect on the mercantile lineage of the- daughter of 



MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS, 311 

the Medicis. She now took her revenge. By the most 
studied slights she sought to mortify Mary, who first 
retired to Rheims. Here she was waited on by a 
deputation from her own nobles, who invited her, in 
terms which amounted to a command, to return to 
her native country. 

A new cause of difficulty now occurred between 
Mary and Elizabeth. The heads of the reformed 
religious party in Scotland, called the " Lords of the 
Congregation," had negotiated a treaty with Elizabeth, 
one of the term% of which was a renunciation, on the 
part of Mary, of all claims to the crown of England 
forever. This Mary refused to ratify, and replied to 
the crafty ministers of her rival with a spirit, intelli- 
gence, and firmness, extraordinary in a girl of eighteen. 
At the same time, she was courteous and gentle, and 
apologized for the assumption of the title and arms of 
queen of England, which, at the death of her husband, 
she had renounced. Attempts had been made to ex- 
cite the fears of her Protestant subjects, which she 
thus set at rest : " I will be plain with you ; the religion 
I profess I take to be the most acceptable to God ; 
and indeed I neither know nor desire any other. I 
have been brought up in this religion, and who might 
credit me in any thing if I should show myself light 
in this case ? I am none of those who change their 
religion every year ; but I mean to constrain none of 
my subjects, though I could wish they were all as I 
am ; and I trust they shall have no support to con- 
strain me." 

Having at length resolved to return home, Mary 
sent to demand of Elizabeth a free passage ; it was 



'312 



MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 



a mere point of courtesy and etiquette, but it was re- 
fused. The English ambassador sought in vain to jus- 
tify his mistress's conduct ; it arose from exasperated 
jealousy, and was inexcusable and mean, as well as 
discourteous. 

It was with grief almost amounting to despair that 
Mary left the scenes of her early attachments, and 
of all her pleasures. Accustomed to the refinement 
of the court of France, she reflected with a degree of 
horror on the barbarism of her own country, and the 
turbulence of the people. She stood upon the deck 
of the vessel which bore her, gazing through her 
tears on the receding shores. " Farewell, France ! " 
she would exclaim from time to time ; " farewell, be- 
loved country, which I shall never more behold ! " 
When night came on, she caused a bed to be spread 
on the deck, and wept herself to sleep. 

By the favor of a thick fog, Mary escaped the fleet 
which Elizabeth had sent out to intercept her, and 
landed at Leith. With sensations of terror and sad- 
ness she entered her capital ; and they may well be 
excused. The poverty of the country formed a strik- 
ing contrast with the fertile plains of France. The 
weather was wet and " dolorous ; " and a serenade of 
bagpipes, with which the populace hailed her, seems 
to have greatly disconcerted her polished attendants. 
But Mary herself took every thing in good part, and, 
after a while, she so far recovered her gayety, that 
the masques and dancing, the " fiddling " and " un- 
comely skipping," gave great offence to John Knox 
and the rest of the grave reformers, who inveighed 
against such practices from the pulpit ; and the former, 



MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 313 

with a violence and rudeness altogether unmanly, per- 
sonally upbraided her, so as to make her weep. In 
one brought up in "joyousness," such austerity could 
not fail to excite disgust, and a stronger clinging to 
the more kind and genial doctrines of her own faith. 
But she made no retaliation ; she sought, on the con- 
trary, to win the affection of all her subjects, and to 
introduce happiness and prosperity, as well as a more 
refined civilization, into her country. Her life for a 
few years was tranquil. She gave four or five hours 
every day to state affairs ; she was wont to have her 
embroidery frame placed in the room where the coun- 
cil met, and while she plied the needle, she joined in the 
discussions, displaying in her own opinions and sug- 
gestions a vigor of mind and quickness which aston- 
ished the statesmen around her. At other times she 
applied to study. She brought a great many books 
with her to Scotland, and the first artificial globes that 
had ever been seen there. She was fond of music, and 
maintained a band of minstrels. Her other amuse- 
ments were hawking, hunting, dancing, and walking in 
the open air. She was fond of gardening; she had 
brought from France a little sycamore plant, which 
she planted in the gardens of Holyrood, and tended 
with care ; and from this parent stem arose the beau- 
tiful groves which are now met with in Scotland. She 
excelled at the game of chess, and delighted in the 
allegorical representations, so much in fashion in her 
day, by the name of " masques." 

Though Mary could not but feel some resentment 
at the injurious treatment which she received from 
Elizabeth, yet she sought to conciliate her, and there 
vi.— 27 



314 MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 

was a great exhibition of courtesy and compliment, 
and "sisterly" affection, between them. Mary even 
consulted Elizabeth about her marriage. But that 
sovereign, with a littleness almost inconceivable, could 
not bear that others should enjoy any happiness of 
which she herself was debarred, and her own subjects 
could in no way more surely incur her displeasure 
than by marriage. She now sought to delay that of 
Mary. She proposed to her a most unworthy match, 
and, when this, as it was intended it should be, was 
rejected, offered objections to all which were proposed 
by Mary. 

At length, the suggestions of a powerful party 
seconding his own ambitious wishes, Henry Darnley 
entered the lists to obtain her favor. He was pos- 
sessed of every external accomplishment, being remark- 
ably tall, handsome, agreeable, and " well instructed 
in all comely exercises." His mother, u a very wise 
and discreet matron," Rizzio, and others, familiar 
with the queen's tastes, instructed him in the best 
methods of being agreeable to her. He affected a 
great degree of refinement, and a fondness for music 
and poetry. The queen, deceived and captivated, 
made choice of him for her husband — a choice which 
at the time seemed most proper and eligible ; for he 
was a Protestant, and next heir, after herself, to 'the 
English throne. They were married in 1565. For a 
short time Mary thought herself happy. In the first 
effusions of her passion, she lavished upon her husband 
every mark of love, and of distinction, even to confer- 
ring upon him the title of king of Scotland. But her 
tenderness and attentions were all thrown away, and. 



MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 315 

instead of respect and gratitude, she met with brutality 
and insolence. Violent, fickle, insolent, ungrateful, 
and addicted to the lowest pleasures, he was incapable 
of all true sentiments of love and tenderness. Love, 
for a time, blinded Mary's reason, and she made excuses 
for his faults ; but, as his true temper and character 
became more known to her, she treated him with more 
reserve, and refused some of his unreasonable de- 
mands. Irritated, Darnley sought for some one in 
the confidence of the queen upon whom he might 
wreak his vengeance. 

There was at the court a young Italian, named 
Rizzio, who has already been mentioned as forward- 
ing Darnley's suit. He had come to Scotland in the 
train of the ambassador of Savoy : the three pages, or 
songsters, who used to sing trios before Mary, wanted 
a bass, and Rizzio was appointed. Being not only a 
scientific musician, but a good penman, well acquainted 
with French and Italian, supple and intelligent, Rizzio 
contrived to make himself generally useful, and was, 
in 1564, appointed French secretary to the queen- 
Some designing nobles, jealous of the favor enjoyed 
by this foreigner, and likewise desirous of effecting a 
permanent breach between Darnley and the queen, 
persuaded him that Rizzio was the author of the 
queen's displeasure, and engaged him in a plot to 
murder him, which was thus carried into execution. 
As Mary was sitting at supper, attended by Rizzio, 
and a few other of the officials of her court, Darnley 
entered by a private passage which communicated 
directly with his own apartments, and, casting his 
arms fondly round her waist, seated himself by her 



316 MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 

side. A minute had scarcely elapsed, when Ruthven, 
in complete armor, rushed in. He had just risen from 
a sick bed ; his features were sunken, his voice hollow, 
and his whole appearance haggard and terrible. Mary- 
started up in affright, and bade him begone ; but ere 
the words were uttered, torches gleamed in the outer 
room, a confused noise of voices and weapons was 
heard, and the other conspirators rushed in. Ruthven 
now drew his dagger, and calling out that their busi- 
ness was with Rizzio, endeavored to seize him ; while 
this miserable victim, springing behind the queen, 
clung by her gown, and besought her protection. All 
was now uproar and confusion ; the tables and lights 
were thrown down. Mary earnestly entreated them to 
have mercy, but in vain. Whilst one of the band held 
a pistol to her breast, the victim, already wounded and 
bleeding, was torn from her knees, and dragged through 
her bed-chamber to the door of the presence chamber, 
where he was finally despatched. Fifty-six wounds 
were found in the body, and the king's dagger was 
left sticking in it, to show, as was afterwards alleged, 
that he had sanctioned the murder. Ruthven, faint 
from sickness, and reeking from the scene of blood, 
staggered into the queen's cabinet, where Mary still 
stood distracted, and in terror of her life. Here he 
threw himself upon a seat, called for a cup of wine, 
and plunged a new dagger into the heart of the queen, 
by declaring that her husband had advised the whole. 
Mary was kept the whole night locked up, alone, in 
the room in which this terrible scene had been enacted. 
The next day Darnley visited her, and she, ignorant 
of the extent of his guilt, employed all her eloquence 



MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 317 

to induce him to desert the desperate men with whom 
he was leagued. He consented, and they fled together 
to Dunbar. 

A new actor must now be brought upon the stage — 
the ambitious, dissolute, and daring Bothwell. He 
was the head of one of the most ancient and powerful 
families in the kingdom, and, in all the plots and in- 
trigues, he had ever remained faithful to the interests 
of the queen ; it was natural, therefore, that he should 
stand high in her favor. It was chiefly through his 
active exertions that she now effected her escape ; and 
she soon found herself at the head of a body of men, 
chiefly his clansmen, sufficiently powerful to bring the 
murderers of Bizzio to punishment. It is a striking 
instance of her clemency, that only two persons were 
executed for this crime. 

Three months after the murder, she gave birth to a 
son, afterwards James I. of England ; at whose chris- 
tening Elizabeth stood godmother, notwithstanding her 
envious and repining exclamation, that " the queen of 
Scots should be mother of a fair son, while she was 
only a barren stock." Even this joyous event could 
not dispel the melancholy of Mary, who now suffered 
so much from the conduct of Darnley as often to be 
seen in tears, and was frequently heard to wish herself 
dead. The lords of her council urged a divorce, but 
she would not listen to this. " I will that you do 
nothing," said she, " by which any spot may be laid 
on my honor or conscience ; but wait till God, of his 
goodness, shall put a remedy to it." Finding the 
queen immovable on this point, Bothwell, who had 
now conceived the ambitious project of succeeding 



318 MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS, 

to his place, resolved to murder Darnley, who was 
just recovering from the smallpox, and was lodged, 
for the benefit of fresh air, at a house called the Kirk- 
of-field, near Edinburgh. His illness and lonely situa- 
tion touched the tender heart of Mary. She visited 
him constantly, and bestowed on him the kindest atten- 
tions. She brought her band of musicians to amuse 
him. She seldom left him during the day, and usually 
passed the night in the house. But on Sunday, the 
9th of February, on taking leave of him for the night, 
she went to the palace of Holyrood, to be present at 
the marriage of two of her servants. While engaged 
in these festivities, the house in which her husband 
slept was blown up, and his lifeless body was found in 
a garden at some distance. Every thing pointed to 
Bothwell as the author of this crime ; but he, after a 
trial had before a jury composed of the first noblemen 
of the kingdom, was acquitted. 

Bothwell's next object was to marry the queen ; and 
the steps he took for this purpose were too extraordi- 
nary, and apparently unnecessary, to have had her 
connivance. We are told that, as she was returning 
to Edinburgh, she was met by Bothwell at the head of 
a large body of retainers, who forcibly dispersed hex 
small retinue, and carried her to Dunbar Castle. He 
then procured the signatures of a large number of the 
most distinguished of the nobles and ecclesiastics to a 
bond recommending him to the queen as a most fit 
and proper husband, and binding themselves to con- 
sider as a common enemy whoever should oppose the 
marriage. Armed with this document, strengthened 



MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 319 

by a vote of the council, Both well brought the queen 
to Edinburgh, and there the marriage was solemnized. 

The month which Mary passed with Bothwell after 
the marriage, was the most miserable of her miserable 
life. He treated her with such indignity, that a day 
did not pass in which " he did not cause her to shed 
abundance of salt tears." Those very lords, who had 
recommended the marriage, now made it a pretext 
for rebellion. Both parties took up arms, and met at 
Carberry Hill. Mary here adopted an unexpected and 
decisive step. She offered to the rebels to dismiss 
Bothwell, and place herself in their hands, if they 
would be answerable for her safety, and return to 
their allegiance. Her terms were accepted; Both- 
well was persuaded by her to leave the field. They 
never met again ; and thus in less than a month this 
union was virtually ended. 

Mary was soon committed as a prisoner to Loch- 
leven Castle, a fortress in the midst of a lake, to the 
immediate custody of Lady Margaret Douglas, a wo- 
man of harsh and unfeeling temper, and who had 
personal motives for irritation against her. Cut off 
from all intercourse with those in whom she had con- 
fidence, and harassed by daily ill usage, her enemies 
trusted that her spirit would at length be broken, and 
that she would submit to any terms which should 
promise relief. Accordingly, after some weeks, she 
was visited by a deputation of the rebels, who de- 
manded her signature to a paper declaring her own 
incapacity to govern, and abdicating the throne in fa- 
vor of her son. Upon her refusal to make this hu- 
miliating declaration, Lindsay, the fiercest of the con- 



320 MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 

federates, rudely seized her hand with his own gaunt- 
leted palm, and, with threats of instant death in case 
of non-compliance, compelled her to set her signature 
to the deed ; she, in a paroxysm of tears, calling on 
all present to witness that she did so through her fear 
for her life, and therefore that the act was not valid. 

Bothwell, meanwhile, after wandering from place to 
place, now lurking among his vassals, now seeking 
refuge with his friends, at length fled, with a single 
ship, towards Norway. Falling in with a vessel of 
that country, richly laden, he attacked it, but was him- 
self taken, and carried to Norway, where for ten years 
he languished in captivity ; till, by melancholy and 
despair deprived of reason, unpitied and unassisted, he 
ended his wretched life in a dungeon. A declaration 
addressed to the king of Denmark, in which he gives a 
succinct account of all the transactions in which he was 
engaged in Scotland, is yet preserved in the library of 
the king of Sweden. In it he completely exonerates 
Mary from having the slightest concern in the murder 
of Darnley ; and again, before his death, when con- 
fessing his own share in it, he solemnly acquits her 
of all pre-knowledge of the crime. 

Mary now, in her distress, found assistance from an 
unexpected quarter. Her misfortunes, and gentle res- 
ignation under them, excited the pity and sympathy 
of the Utile William Douglas, a boy of fifteen, a son of 
her jailer; and he resolved to undertake her deliver- 
ance. The first attempt failed. The queen had suc- 
ceeded in leaving the castle in the disguise of a laun- 
dress, and was already seated in the boat, to cross the 
lake, when she betrayed herself by raising her hand. 



MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 321 

The beauty and extreme whiteness of that hand dis- 
covered her at once, and she was carried back to her 
chamber in tears and bitterness of heart. The next 
attempt was more successful, and she reached Hamil- 
ton in safety. Many nobles of the highest distinction 
hastened to offer their support, and, in three days 
after leaving Lochleven, she was at the head of six 
thousand men, devoted to her cause. 

The other party made haste to assemble their forces. 
At their head was Murray, a half-brother of the queen 
— a man whom she had loaded with benefits and hon- 
ors, and to whom she had twice granted life, when 
condemned for treason. He now acted as regen f , in 
the minority of the infant prince, whom the confeder- 
ates assumed to be king. The hostile bands met at 
Langside. From a neighboring hill, Maiy viewed a 
conflict on which her fate depended. She beheld — 
with what anguish of heart may be imagined — the 
fortune of the day turn against her ; she saw her 
faithful friends cut to pieces, taken prisoners, or fly- 
ing before the victorious Murray. When all was lost, 
her general, Lord Herries, came up to her, seized her 
bridle, and turned her horse's head from the dismal 
scene. With a few adherents she fled southwards ; 
nor did she repose till she reached Dundrennan, sixty 
miles from the field of battle. There Mary, trusting 
in Elizabeth's recent professions of friendship, took the 
fatal resolution of throwing herself upon the compas- 
sion and protection of the English queen. As she 
approached the boundary, her resolution faltered ; the 
coming evils seemed to cast their shadows before ; but 
those which awaited her, if she remained, were certain, 
u 



322 MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 

and she crossed the small stream which formed the 
parting line. 

Mary was at this time in her twenty-sixth year ; in 
the very prime of existence, in the full bloom of beauty 
and health, when a dark pall was spread over her life. 
Thenceforward her history presents one painful pic- 
ture of monotonous suffering on the one hand, and of 
meanness, treachery, and cruelty, on the other. With 
relentless cruelty, her rival kept her in perpetual 
bonds ; the only changes were from prison to prison, 
and from one harsh keeper to another; from the gleam 
of delusive hope to the blackness of succeeding disap- 
pointment. 

As soon as she entered England, Mary addressed a 
letter to Elizabeth, in which she painted in glowing 
colors the wrongs she had endured, and implored the 
sympathy and assistance of her " good sister." A 
generous and magnanimous sovereign would not have 
hesitated as to the answer to be made to such an 
appeal. But Elizabeth deliberated ; she consulted her 
counsel ; the object of long years of hatred was in her 
power ; one whose very existence was an outrage 
upon her personal vanity ; her malicious feelings of 
envy and jealousy got the mastery, and Mary's deten- 
tion as a prisoner was resolved on. Still, however, a 
show of decency was to be preserved. Noblemen of 
suitable rank were sent to receive her, carrying with 
them letters from their sovereign filled with prostituted 
expressions of condolence and sympathy. At the 
same time, orders were given that Mary should not be 
allowed to leave the kingdom. To Mary's demand of 
a formal interview, Elizabeth replied, that the honor 



MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 323 

must, with whatever reluctance, be denied to her, lest 
the imputation under which she labored of being acces- 
sory to the murder of Darnley should bring a stain 
upon her own reputation ; but that, whenever she 
should clear herself of this, she should receive assist- 
ance commensurate with her distress, and a reception 
suitable to her dignity. By this pretence was Mary 
entangled in a treacherous snare. Confiding in her 
professions of friendship, she agreed to submit her 
cause to Elizabeth, and to produce to her such proofs 
as would convince her of her innocence, and of the 
malice and falsehood of her enemies. Elizabeth had 
now accomplished her end : she became the umpire 
between Mary and her rebellious subjects, and had it 
wholly in her power to protract and to involve the 
proceedings in endless mazes ; having, at the same time, 
a pretext for keeping Mary at a distance from her court, 
and for withholding from her all assistance. 

To save appearances, a conference was appointed to 
be held at York, at which, in presence of her repre- 
sentatives, the several parties should make known their 
causes of complaint. Murray appeared in person, and 
accused Mary of participating in the murder of her 
husband, and of other monstrous crimes ; of all which 
were offered as testimony certain letters purporting to 
have been written by her to Both well. By her com- 
mand, her commissioners repelled the accusation with 
horror, and pronounced the letters to be base forgeries, 
and, at the same time, accused Murray and his confed- 
erates of treason and scandal against their sovereign. 
As was predetermined, the conference ended without 
coming to any decision ; and, as Murray was permitted 



324 " MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 

to return to Scotland, Mary required that she should be 
set at liberty. In answer, it was intimated that if she 
would confirm the forced abdication, and would re- 
nounce her throne and country, she should be permit- 
ted to reside in quiet and privacy in England. " The 
eyes of Europe," replied Mary, " are upon me ; and, 
were I thus tamely to yield to my adversaries, I should 
be pronouncing my own condemnation. A thousand 
times rather would I submit to death than inflict this 
stain upon my honor. The last words I speak shall 
be those of the queen of Scotland." Refusing her 
liberty upon these disgraceful terms, she remained a 
captive. 

Great fears were entertained of the power of Mary's 
charms over those who were suffered to approach her. 
" If I might give advice," writes one of Elizabeth's 
statesmen, when on a visit to her, " there should 
very few subjects of this land have access to a con- 
ference with this lady ; for, besides that she is a 
goodly personage, — and yet, in truth, not compar- 
able to our sovereign, — she hath withal an alluring 
grace, a pretty Scotch speech, and a searching wit, 
clouded with mildness." The advice contained in this 
letter was too acceptable not to be followed, and every 
succeeding year found Mary reduced in society, in 
comforts, and health. The latter, which had hereto- 
fore caused her no anxiety, gradually gave way before 
want of exercise and the dampness of the prisons in 
which she was confined ; and she came to suffer from 
constant pain in her side, rheumatism, and weakness 
of limbs — a state of suffering and disease which was 
aggravated by the penuriousness of Elizabeth, which 



MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS, 325 

would not permit to her even the accommodations 
which that comparatively rude age afforded. 

Her principal occupation was needle-work, and her 
amusement reading and composition ; she retained her 
early love of literature, and it was now, next to her 
religious feelings and hopes, her best resource. The 
unvarying mildness and saint-like patience with which 
Mary endured her captivity are the more remarkable, 
if we remember that she was disinclined to sedentary 
amusements, and by nature and habit fond of walking, 
riding, gardening, and all exercises in the open air. 
Her gentleness, therefore, under a restraint so heart- 
wearing, is a proof of singular sweetness of temper 
and strength of mind, if not of a clear and tranquil 
conscience. 

But, if the situation of Mary was melancholy, that 
of her persecutor was not to be envied. Plot suc- 
ceeded plot, having for ostensible object the relief of 
Mary. In fact, while she existed, Elizabeth was 
stretched on the rack of fear and suspicion. In vain 
did she seek to implicate Mary in these traitorous 
projects ; Mary freely acknowledged that she should 
seize with eagerness any means of deliverance from 
a hateful captivity ; but, as to being privy to any plot 
against the life or throne of the queen, this she con- 
stantly and strenuously denied. At last, a subservient 
Parliament were induced to pass a most infamous law, 
which declared that not only the conspirators them- 
selves, but those in whose cause they conspired, how- 
ever innocent, or ignorant of their purpose, should 
equally suffer the penalties of treason. 

Occasion was soon made for bringing Mary to trial 
vi.— 28 



326 MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 

under this law. The arrival of the commissioners 
charged with the duty was a surprise to her ; a public 
trial was an indignity wholly unexpected, and she 
protested against it. "I came," said she, "into the 
kingdom an independent sovereign, to ask the queen's 
assistance, not to subject myself to her authority. 
Nor is my spirit so broken by past misfortunes, or 
intimidated by present dangers, as to stoop to any thing 
unbecoming the dignity of a crowned head, or that 
will disgrace the ancestors from whom I am de- 
scended, and the son to whom I shall leave the 
throne. If I must be tried, princes only can be my 
peers. Since my arrival in this country, I have been 
uniformly confined as a prisoner. Its laws never af- 
forded me any protection. Let them not be perverted, 
in order to take away my life." But a second time 
was she entrapped by the plausible argument that, by 
avoiding a trial, she was an enemy to her own repu- 
tation. Solicitous for the vindication of her honor, 
she submitted to an inquiry, the result of which had 
been predetermined ; for those who had made the law 
for an express purpose, would not scruple to apply 
it. Notwithstanding a defence which was character- 
ized by the same vigor and dignity of mind, and 
the acuteness of intellect which she had displayed 
when in possession of youth, health, and power, a 
sentence universally acknowledged to be unjust and 
iniquitous was pronounced against her. 

The news of this outrage excited horror and indig- 
nation throughout Europe, and at length roused James 
to attempt something in behalf of his mother. He 
sent ambassadors to the various sovereigns of Europe, 



MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 327 

calling upon them to join with him in this the common 
cause of princes. He wrote to Elizabeth, threatening 
her with the vengeance which, as a sovereign and as 
a son, he was bound in honor and in duty to inflict. 
But Elizabeth was deaf to the reproaches and men- 
aces by which she was from all sides assailed. It is 
true that, when a servile Parliament besought her to 
have the sentence executed, she, with an affectation 
of clemency, besought them to spare her the pain 
of imbruing her hands in the blood of a queen and 
near kinswoman, and to consider if the public safety 
might not otherwise be provided for. But her real 
meaning was well understood, and the lords and com- 
mons repeated the request, without fear of offending 
by their importunity. 

By her own command, Davison, the secretary, 
brought to her the death-warrant, and she subscribed 
it with no relenting symptoms. She was still, how- 
ever, solicitous to preserve appearances, and let fall 
intimations which might stimulate some of her officers 
to extricate her from her dilemma. It was an honor 
to the nation that no assassin could be found. Paulet, 
though harsh in temper, and brutal, at times, in the 
discharge of what he conceived to.be his duty, re- 
jected with disdain a proposal of this nature ; de- 
claring that, though the queen might dispose of his 
life at her pleasure, he would not stain his honor, or 
cover his memory with infamy. Upon which Eliz- 
abeth called him a dainty and precise fellow, who 
promised much, but performed nothing. 

At length the privy council determined to take upon 
themselves the responsibility of sending off the warrant 



328 MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 

for the execution. On the 7th of February, 1587, the 
Earls of Kent and Shrewsbury, being admitted to Mary's 
presence, informed her that their mistress, Elizabeth, 
being overcome by the importunity of her subjects, had 
given orders for her execution. She listened unmoved 
to the reading of the warrant, and on its conclusion 
she bowed her head, and, making the sign of the cross, 
thanked her gracious God that this welcome news had 
at last come ; declaring how happy she should be to 
leave a world where she could be of no use, and had 
suffered such continued affliction. After expressing 
her delight and her gratitude to God for the privilege 
of sealing, by her death, the testimony she had so 
often borne in behalf of her church, she went on to 
speak of her past suffering. Born a queen, the 
daughter of a king, the cousin of the queen of Eng- 
land, the granddaughter of Henry VII., once queen 
of France, and now queen-dowager of that kingdom, — 
and yet what had all this availed her? She then 
spoke of her love for England ; of the desire she had 
ever felt to obtain the friendship of its queen ; of the 
ignominy and injustice with which she had, notwith- 
standing, been treated ;' imprisoned contrary to all 
faith and treaties ; kept a captive for nineteen years ; 
and "at last," said she, laying her hand on the New 
Testament, " condemned by a tribunal which had n< 
power over me, for a crime of which I here solemnly 
declare I am innocent. I have neither invented, nor 
consented to, nor pursued, any conspiracy for the 
death of the queen of England." The Earl of Kent 
here hastily interrupted her, declaring that the Scrip- 
tures on which she had sworn were false, and the 



MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 329 

Roman Catholic version. " It is the translation which 
I believe," answered Mary. " Does your lordship 
think my oath would be better, if I swore on your 
translation, which I disbelieve ? " She then requested 
to be allowed the services of her chaplain, whom she 
had not for some time been permitted to see. But 
the request was denied ; the Earl of Kent, however, 
an intolerant bigot, after a long theological discourse, 
offered her the services of his own Protestant chaplain. 
Mary bore this stroke of cruelty with meekness, but 
declined the proffered services. She inquired at 
what time she was to die. "To-morrow, at eight," 
was the reply ; and the earls then left the room. On 
their departure, Mary called her women, and bade 
them hasten supper, that she might have time to 
arrange her affairs. " Come, come, Jane Kennedy," 
said she, " cease your weeping, and be busy. Did I 
not warn you, my children, that it would come to 
this ? and now, blessed be God, it has come, and fear 
and sorrow are at an end. Weep not, but rejoice 
rather that your poor mistress is so near the end of 
her troubles. Dry your tears, then, and let us pray 
together." Some time was spent in her devotions ; 
she then supped with cheerfulness. She next dis- 
tributed various articles from her wardrobe among her 
attendants, with a kind expression for each. She then 
wrote her last will, which is still extant, and consists 
of four pages, closely written, in a neat, firm hand. 
Not one person was forgotten who had any claims on 
her gratitude or her remembrance. She also wrote 
several letters ; but these, it is said, are blotted with her 
tears. It was her custom to have her women read to 
28* 



330 MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 

he* 't night, a portion of the " Lives of the Saints ; " 
an? this last night she would not omit it, but made 
Jane Kennedy select a portion. She chose the life 
entitled the " Good Thief," which treats of that beau- 
tiful and affecting example of dying faith and divine 
compassion. " Alas ! " said Mary, " he was indeed a 
very great sinner, but not so great as 1 am. May my 
Savior, in memory of His passion, have mercy on me, 
as he had on him ! " 

At the hour appointed, the sheriff entered her room, 
and proceeding to the altar, where the queen was 
kneeling, informed her that all was ready. She rose, 
and saying simply, " Let us go," proceeded towards 
the door, on reaching which, her attendants were in- 
formed that they were not to accompany her. A 
scene of the most distressing character now took place ; 
but they were at last torn from her, and locked up 
in the apartment. Mary proceeded alone down the 
great "staircase, at the foot of which she was received 
by the two earls, who were struck with the perfect 
tranquillity and unaffected grace with which she met 
them. She was dressed in black satin, matronly but 
richly, and with more studied care than she was com- 
monly accustomed to bestow. At the bottom of the 
staircase she was also met by her old servant, Sir An- 
drew Melvil, waiting to take his last farewell. Fling- 
ing himself on his knees, he bitterly lamented it should 
have fallen to him to carry this heart-rending news to 
Scotland. " Weep not," said she, " but rather rejoice, 
my good Melvil. Carry this news with thee, that I 
die firm in my religion, true to Scotland, true to 
France. May God, who can alone judge the thoughts 



MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 331 

and actions of men, forgive those who have thirsted 
for my blood. Remember me to my son ; tell him I 
have done nothing that may prejudice his kingdom." 
She then earnestly entreated that her women might be 
permitted to be with her at her death ; but the Earl of 
Kent refused it, saying that they might be guilty of 
something scandalous and superstitious, even to dip- 
ping their handkerchiefs in her blood. But Mary 
plighted her word they should not offend in any wise : 
"Surely, surely you will not deny me this last little 
request ; my poor girls wish only to see me die." As 
she said this, a few tears were observed to fall, for the 
first time ; and, after some consultation, she was per- 
mitted to have two ladies and four gentlemen beside 
her. Followed by these, she entered the great hall, 
and seated herself on the raised platform, prepared for 
a scaffold, with the same easy grace and dignity with 
which she would have occupied her throne. The 
death-warrant was then read ; but those who were 
near could see, by the sweet and absent expression 
of her countenance, that her thoughts were afar off. 
The Earl of Kent next solicited her to join with him 
and the Protestant chaplain in their devotions. But 
she declined, and, kneeling apart, repeated a part of 
the penitential Psalms, and afterwards continued her 
prayers aloud in English. By this time, the chaplain 
had concluded ; there was a deep silence, so that every 
word was heard. It was impossible for any one to 
behold her at this moment without being deeply af- 
fected — on her knees, her hands clasped and raised 
to heaven, an expression of adoration and divine se- 
renity lighting up her features, and upon her lips the 



332 MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 

words of forgiveness to her persecutors. Having fin- 
ished, she cheerfully suffered herself to be undressed 
by her women, gently admonishing them not to dis- 
tress her by their lamentations ; putting her finger on 
her lips, and bidding them remember that she had 
promised for them. On seeing the executioner ap- 
proach to offer his assistance, she smiled, and playfully 
said, " that she had neither been used to such grooms 
of the chamber, nor to undress before so many people." 
When all was ready, she kissed her women, and, 
giving them her last blessing, she knelt down and 
groped her way to the block, — for her eyes were 
bound, — and laid her neck upon it without the slight- 
est mark of trembling or hesitation. Her last words 
were, "Into thy hands I commend my spirit, for thou 
hast redeemed me, O Lord God of truth." At two 
strokes, her head was severed from her body, and the 
executioner, holding it up, called aloud, " God save 
the queen!" " So let all Queen Elizabeth's enemies 
perish ! " was the prayer of the chaplain ; but the 
spectators were dissolved in tears, and one deep voice 
alone answered, " Amen ! " It came from the Earl 
of Kent. On removing the body, and the clothes and 
mantle which lay beside it, Mary's favorite little dog, 
which had followed its mistress unperceived, was found 
nestling under them. No entreaty could prevail on 
it to quit the spot ; and it remained lying beside the 
corpse, and stained in the blood, till forcibly carried 
away by the attendants. 

Elizabeth affected to receive the news of the death 
of her rival with surprise and grief; she even carried 
her artifice to so barbarous a length, as to render Da- 



MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS. 363 

vison, the secretary, and the innocent instrument of 
her cruelty and dissimulation, the victim of her per- 
fidy. Under pretence that he had orders not to let the 
warrant go out of his office, he was degraded, fined, 
imprisoned, and utterly ruined. By this sacrifice, she 
hoped to appease the king of Scots, whom the death 
of his mother had filled with grief and resentment, 
which yielded, however, at length, to the necessities 
of his situation. Having affected to admit the excuses 
of Elizabeth, and to be satisfied with the sacrifice of 
Davison, he stifled his indignation, and continued the 
semblance of amity with the English court. Thus the 
death and sufferings of Mary remained unavenged, 
while Elizabeth was suffered to reap the advantages 
of her malignity. 





QUEEN ELIZABETH ON A TOUR THROUGH HER REALM, 



ELIZABETH, QUEEN OF ENGLAND 



This extraordinary woman, the daughter of Henry VIII. and 
Anne Boleyn, was born in 1533. Being educated a Protestant, 
and having adopted the principles of the reformation, she was 
looked upon with suspicion and treated with harshness during 
the reign of her sister Mary. She devoted herself, however, 
to study, and is thus described at this period : " She was of 
admirable beauty, and well deserving a crown ; of a modest 
gravity, excellent wit, royal soul, happy memory, and indefati- 
gably given to the study of learning, insomuch as, before she 
was seventeen years of age, she understood well the Latin, 
French, and Italian tongues, and had an indifferent knowledge 
of the, Greek. Neither did she neglect music, so far as it be- 
came a princess, being able to sing sweetly, and play hand- 
somely on the lute." 

On the death of Mary, in 1558, she was immediately pro- 
claimed queen, and was received in the metropolis with the 
loudest acclamations. She consigned to oblivion all the af- 
fronts she had received during the late reign, and prudently 
assumed the gracious demeanor of the common sovereign of 
all her subjects. Philip of Spain soon made her proposals of 
marriage ; but she knew the aversion borne him by the nation 
too well to think of accepting him. 

She now proceeded to the arduous task of settling the religion 
of the state. In comparison with the harsh and cruel meas- 
ures of her predecessor, her conduct was marked with mod- 
eration. Yet the Catholics were made to feel the severest re- 
straints upon their liberty of thought and action. It was not 
long before she began that interference in the affairs of Scot- 
land which produced the most singular and painful events in 



836 ELIZABETH, QUEEN OF ENGLAND. 

her reign. These we have sufficiently detailed in the life of 
the unhappy Queen Mary. 

The political history of Elizabeth would fill a volume. She 
soon acquired great reputation for vigor and sagacity, and was 
regarded as the head of the Protestant party in Europe. She 
took the part of the revolted provinces of Holland against 
Spain in 1585, and three years after, when threatened by what 
was called the " Invincible Armada," she displayed a degree 
of energy and personal courage which would have done credit 
to a sovereign of the other sex. She mingled largely in the 
political affairs of the continent, and, in 1601, held a confer- 
ence with the celebrated Sully, with a view to the adjustment 
of a new balance of European power. While thus directing 
her attention to general politics, she did not neglect the internal 
affairs of her kingdom. These were indeed conducted with 
great sagacity and wisdom, and such was the state of prosper- 
ity among the people, that the " good old days of Queen Bess " 
is still a proverb in England. Although thus attentive to the 
concerns of government, Elizabeth devoted much time and 
expense to dress, of which she was excessively fond ; and she 
even affected a love of literature and learning. The age in 
which she lived is remarkable for the great men it produced — 
Shakspere, Bacon, Sidney, Hooker, and Raleigh, whose 
works contributed so much to give vigor, strength, and ele- 
gance, to the English tongue. Literature owes, however, little 
to her ; she was much more fond of displaying her own ac- 
quirements than encouraging the learned. Whatever counte- 
nance Shakspere received from royalty, he owed to his friends 
Essex and Southampton ; and Spenser, who has sung the praises 
of the queen in " strains divine," died in neglect and poverty. 

Elizabeth was fond of multiplying pictures of herself, and so 
far encouraged painting. One of her most characteristic or- 
dinances is a proclamation forbidding all manner of persons 
from drawing, painting, graving, &c., her majesty's person and 
visage, till some perfect pattern should be prepared by a skil- 
ful limner, "for the consolation of her majesty's loving sub- 
jects, who were grieved, and took great offence, at the errors 
and deformities committed by sundry persons in this respect." 
She was so little capable of judging of works of art, that she 



ELIZABETH, QUEEN OF ENGLAND, 337 

would not allow a painter to put any shadows upon the face, " be- 
cause," as she said, "shade is an accident, and not in nature." 

During her whole reign, Elizabeth was subjected to the in- 
fluence of favorites. The most celebrated of these are the 
Earls of Leicester and of Essex. The first was a most weak 
and worthless man, contemned and feared by the nobles, and 
odious to the people ; yet, in spite of all his vices and inca- 
pacity, he maintained his influence for nearly thirty years. 
Her partiality for Essex seems to have been the dotage of a 
vain old woman. She could not appreciate his fine qualities ; 
she would not make allowance for his faults ; and he was too 
frank and spirited to cringe at her footstool. " I owe her 
majesty," said he upon an occasion when she had repaid 
some want of obsequiousness by a blow, " the duty of an earl, 
but I will never serve her as a villain and a slave ! " Essex 
was too rash and unsuspecting to be a match for the cool and 
wily ministers, whose interest it was to have him out of their 
way, not only as the favorite of the present sovereign, but as 
likely to be all powerful with her successor ', and partly by 
their arts, and partly by his own fiery temper, he was brought 
to the block in the thirty -fourth year of his age. in the exas- 
peration of offended power and jealous self-will, the queen 
signed the warrant for his execution, and pined away the 
remainder of her life in unavailing remorse. This grief, with 
which she long struggled in secret, at length broke forth 
superior to control. The occasion was as follows : — 

The Countess of Nottingham, a near relation, but no friend, 
of Essex, being on her death-bed, entreated to see the queen, 
declaring that she had something to confess to her before she 
could die in peace. On her majesty's arrival, the countess 
produced a ring, which she said the Earl of Essex had sent to 
her, after his condemnation, with an earnest request that she 
would deliver it to the queen, as a token by which he implored 
her mercy ; but that, in obedience to her husband, she with- 
held it. Elizabeth at once recognized the ring as one which 
she had herself presented to her favorite, with the tender 
promise, that of whatsoever crimes his enemies might have 
accused him, or whatever offences he might actually have 
committed against her, on his returning to her that pledge 
V VI.— 29 



338 ELIZABETH, QUEEN OF ENGLAND. 

she would either pardon him, or admit him, at least, to justify 
himself in her presence. It was in a moment of pique at his 
supposed pride and obstinacy in refusing to ask her forgive- 
ness, that she had signed the death-warrant. She now learned 
that he had been the victim, and herself the dupe, of the most 
barbarous treachery. Transported with grief and rage, she 
shook the dying countess in her bed ; and, vehemently ex- 
claiming, " God may forgive, but I never will," she flung her- 
self out of the chamber. 

Returning to the palace, she surrendered herself without 
resistance to the despair which had seized her heart on this 
fatal disclosure. She refused medicine, and almost the means 
of sustenance ; days and nights she sat upon the floor, sleep- 
less, her eyes fixed, and her finger pressed upon her mouth, 
the silence only broken by her sighs, groans, and ejaculations 
of anguish. Her sufferings were at length relieved by her 
death, on the 24th of March, 1603. Her last words were 
strongly characteristic. During her whole life, she had shown 
a perverse dread of naming her successor ; but it was neces- 
sary that the question should be put to her in her last moments. 
She replied, " My seat has been the seat of kings, and I will 
have no rascal to succeed me." Cecil, whom the weakness 
of the dying lioness rendered bold, inquired what she meant 
by the words, *' that no rascal should succeed her ; " to which 
she answered, " I will have a king to succeed me, and who 
should that be but the king of Scots ? " 

The personal character of Elizabeth presents little that 
excites our sympathy or respect. She was vain, jealous, and 
selfish, in the extreme. She was capable of the deepest hypoc- 
risy, and often practised it. She sacrificed every thing to her 
despotic love of sway; her pride, and her vanity, except the 
interests of her kingdom. These she guarded with care, and, 
though a tyrannical and selfish monarch, she must be ranked 
&s among the best sovereigns jo£ her time. 



ISABELLA OF SPAIN 



Isabella, queen of Castile, was born at Madrigal, in that 
kingdom, on the 22d of April, 1451. Her father, John II., after 
an inglorious reign of forty-eight years, died in 1454, lament- 
ing that he had not been born the son of a mechanic, instead 
of king of Castile. Isabella had but a slender prospect of 
obtaining the crown during the early part of her life. She 
had two brothers, Henry and Alfonso, the former of whom 
acceded to the throne at the death of John. Isabella retired, 
with her mother, to the little town of Arevalo, where she 
lived many years in obscurity. Her mother, who appears to 
have been a woman of a strong, religious turn of mind, be- 
stowed great care on her education, and inculcated the strictest 
lessons of piety upon her daughter, which did not fail to exer- 
cise an important influence upon her future career. On the 
birth of a daughter to her brother, Isabella was removed from 
her retirement to the royal palace, by Henry, who, being dis- 
liked by his subjects, feared the formation of a party adverse 
to his interests. At the royal court, surrounded by all the 
pleasures and seductions most dazzling to youth, she did not 
forget the early lessons imbibed in her seclusion, and the 
blameless purity of her conduct shone with additional lustre 
amid the scenes of levity and licentiousness by which she was 
surrounded. 

Before this event, she had been solicited in marriage by 
various suitors, among whom was Ferdinand of Arragon, who 
afterward became her husband. His first application, however, 
was unsuccessful. She was next betrothed to his elder 
brother Carlos, while yet a mere child. That prince dying 
before the marriage could be completed, she was promised by 



340 ISABELLA OF SPAIN. 

her brother to Alfonso, king of Portugal. Isabella was but 
thirteen at this time, and the disparity of their ages was such 
that neither threats nor entreaties could induce her to con- 
sent to the union. The selfish and unprincipled Henry, who 
looked upon his sister only as an object of trade, next made 
an attempt to dispose of her for the puipose of gaining over a 
powerful family in Castile, which gave him great trouble by 
their opposition. He offered her in marriage to Don Pedro 
Giron, grand master of the order of Calatrava. This man 
was well known to be a most detestable character. He was 
a fierce and turbulent leader of a faction, and his private life 
was stained with almost every vice. Such a person, vastly 
inferior in birth, was selected as the husband of the young 
and virtuous Isabella. The pope granted a dispensation from 
the vow of celibacy, which the grand master, as the com- 
panion of a religious order, had been obliged to utter, and 
splendid preparations were immediately made for the nuptials. 

Isabella was at this time in her sixteenth year. When she 
understood in what manner she was now to be sacrificed to 
the selfish policy of her brother, and that, in case she proved 
reluctant, compulsory measures were to be adopted, she 
was filled with the liveliest grief and indignation. She con- 
fined herself in her apartment, abstaining from all food and 
sleep for a day and a night, imploring Heaven, in the most 
piteous manner, to save her from this dishonor, even at the 
cost of her life. As she was bewailing her hard fate to her 
faithful friend, Beatriz de Bobadilla, that high-spirited lady 
exclaimed, "God will not permit it; neither will I}" and, 
drawing forth a dagger from her bosom, she solemnly vowed 
to plunge it into the heart of the master of Calatrava as soon 
as he appeared. The affair, happily, did not come to so 
tragical a catastrophe. Her dreaded suitor was suddenly carried 
off by sickness in the midst of his magnificent preparations. 

Troubles now began to thicken around the weak and vicious 
Henry. His subjects, disgusted with his administration, rose 
in arms against him. Castile was afflicted with all the horrors 
of anarchy and civil war. Isabella retired for shelter to a mon- 
astery at Avila. The confederated nobles, who were in arms 
against the king, offered her the crown of Castile, which she 



ISABELLA OF SPAIN. 341 

had the prudence and magnanimity to refuse. This led to a 
negotiation with the king, and the civil war was closed by a 
treaty between the parties, in which it was stipulated that 
Isabella should be immediately recognized heir to the crown 
of Castile and Leon. Her brother Alfonso had recently died, 
and Joanna, the daughter of Henry, was believed by the people 
to be a supposititious offspring. Isabella's prospects of a throne, 
having now assumed a certain character, drew the attention of 
neighboring princes, who contended with each other for the 
honor of her hand. She gave the preference to Ferdinand of 
Arragon, and they were married in 1469. On the death of 
Henry, in 1474, they were conjointly declared king and queen 
of Castile. A party, however, existed in favor of Joanna, and 
Alfonso IV., king of Portugal, entered Castile at the head of 
an army, publicly espoused her, and assumed the regal title. 
His defeat at the battle of Toro, in 1475, was fatal to his pre- 
tensions, and, by a peace concluded in 1479, the right of Isa- 
bella and her husband was fully acknowledged. In that year 
Ferdinand succeeded to the crown of Arragon ; and from that 
time the kingdoms of Castile and Arragon were inseparably 
united, comprising the whole of Spain not possessed by the 
Moors. 

Isabella, who was high spirited and jealous of her authority, 
governed Castile as the real sovereign, and her husband had 
the policy to concur, with apparent cordiality, in her measures. 
In 1481, hostilities were commenced against the Moors of 
Grenada; and, after a war of ten years, that kingdom was 
subdued by the arms of Ferdinand and Isabella. By this 
event the whole of Spain was restored to the Christian do- 
minion j and, in honor of an achievement so auspicious, the 
two sovereigns received the distinguishing title of " the Cath- 
olic." In this war Isabella engaged with all the ardor of 
religious zeal; and though Ferdinand joined in her plans with 
perfect harmony, yet he seems to have acted in a secondary 
capacity. Soon after this, the Jews were expelled from 
Spain — an act of bigotry and injustice certainly countenanced 
by Isabella, but owing chiefly to the frantic religious zeal of 
the inquisitor-general, Torquemada, her confessor, who, while 
the king and queen were deliberating on the acceptance of an 
29* 



342 ISABELLA or SPAIN, 

offer of thirty thousand ducats made by the Jews to avert the 
threatened edict of expulsion, suddenly burst into their pres- 
ence, and, drawing forth a crucifix from beneath his mantle, 
held it up, exclaiming, " Judas Iscariot sold his Master for 
thirty pieces of silver. Your highnesses would sell him 
anew for thirty thousand. Here he is ; take him, and barter 
him away." So saying, he threw the crucifix on the table, 
and left the apartment. This bold stroke of priestly impu- 
dence was completely successful. The sovereigns were over- 
awed, and the edict was signed. 

A deed more glorious to the memory of Isabella was the 
generous patronage she bestowed upon Columbus, and which 
was the sole means that enabled that heroic adventurer to 
accomplish his great undertaking of the discovery of the west- 
ern world. After he had failed in all his attempts in other 
quarters, he at length found a friend in the queen, who, reject- 
ing the advice of her narrow-minded and timid counsellors, 
exclaimed, "I will assume the undertaking for my own 
crown of Castile, and am ready to pawn my jewels to defray 
the expenses of it, if the funds in the treasury shall be found 
inadequate." Under her auspices Columbus achieved his 
great discovery ; and Isabella may be called the mother of the 
western world. She continued a constant friend and pro- 
tector of Columbus during her life ; and her death proved an 
overwhelming disaster to him. 

During the war against the Moors, Isabella shared in mosr 
of the campaigns, animating her husband and generals by her 
courage and undaunted perseverance ; providing for the sup- 
port of the armies by her forethought and economy ; comfort- 
ing them under their reverses by her sweet and gracious 
speeches, and pious confidence in Heaven ; and, by her active 
humanity and her benevolent sympathy, extended to friend 
and foe, softening, as far as possible, the miseries of war. 
She was the first who appointed regular military surgeons to 
attend the movements of the army, and be at hand on the 
field of battle. These surgeons were paid out of her own 
revenues ; and she also provided six spacious tents, furnished 
with beds and all things requisite for the sick and wounded, 
which were called the "Queen's Hospital." Thus to the 



ISABELLA OF SPAIN. 343 

compassionate heart of a woman, directed by energy and judg- 
ment, the civilized world was first indebted for an expedient 
which has since saved so many lives, and accomplished so 
much towards alleviating the frightful evils of war. 

Isabella's confessor, the Dominican Torquemada, had, from 
the beginning, earnestly labored to infuse into her young mind, 
to which his situation gave him such ready access, the same 
spirit of fanaticism that glowed in his own. Fortunately, this 
was in a great degree counteracted by her sound understand- 
ing and natural kindness of heart. But he is said to have 
extorted a promise that, "should she ever come to the throne, 
she would devote herself to the extirpation of heresy, for the 
glory of God and the extension of the Catholic faith." The 
fulfilment of this promise being afterwards insisted on, led to 
the establishment of the Inquisition in her dominions, the dark- 
est spot that exists upon her character. It was not till she had 
endured the repeated importunities of the clergy, particularly 
of those revered persons in whom she most confided, that she 
consented to this measure. 

It was under the auspices of Isabella that Cardinal Ximenes 
introduced his famous reforms into the religious orders of 
Spain, and began the work of correcting the horrible abuses 
which had crept into the government of the convents. This 
attempt was strongly resisted, and occasioned a general outcry 
of the clergy. The general of the Franciscans waited on the 
queen, and remonstrated in high terms against this interfer- 
ence with the privileges of his order; at the same time reflect- 
ing severely on Cardinal Ximenes, and his influence over her 
mind. Isabella listened to this turbulent friar with some im- 
patience ; but, little accustomed to be dictated to in this style, 
she at length rose from her seat, and desired him to remember 
who he was, and to whom he spoke. " Madam," replied the 
monk, undauntedly, "I remember that I am but ashes and 
dust, and that I speak to Queen Isabella, who is but dust and 
ashes, like myself." She immediately turned from him with a 
look of cool disdain. The next day he was ordered to quit 
the kingdom; and Ximenes, supported by the royal power, 
pursued his system of reformation. 

Isabella was a patron of literature. The first printing press 



-344 ISABELLA OF SPAIN. 

set up in Spain was established at Burgos under her auspices ; 
and all printed books, and foreign and classical works, were 
imported free of duty. Through her zeal and patronage, the 
University of Salamanca rose to that eminence which it as- 
sumed among the learned institutions of that period, and rivalled 
those of Pisa and Padua. She prepared the way for that golden 
age of Spanish literature which immediately succeeded her. 
Her own love of study is evinced by the fact, that, after she 
was firmly seated on the throne, she applied herself to the task 
of remedying the defects of her early education, by a diligent 
application to books, amid all the cares of state. She mastered 
the Latin language in less than a year's study. 

Notwithstanding that Isabella adored her husband, she would 
never suffer him to interfere with her authority as an independ- 
ent sovereign, and she was as jealous of her prerogative as 
Elizabeth of England ; except, indeed, where priestly intimida- 
tion was applied. Her extreme deference for the ecclesi- 
astics around her was a misfortune for her people, but, con- 
sistently with the best points in her character, it could not 
have been otherwise. She was humane, just, and reasonable 
in all matters not influenced by the religious bigotry of the age. 
She declared the American Indians free, and ordered the in- 
stant return of several cargoes of them which had been sent to 
Spain for slaves. 

After a successful and glorious reign of thirty years, Isabella 
the Catholic died, on the 26th of November, 1504, in the fifty- 
fourth year of her age. Her last years were clouded with the 
deepest melancholy. The insanity and misfortunes of her 
daughter Joanna, and the domestic afflictions of her daughter 
Catherine of Arragon, lacerated her heart with sorrow. She 
pined away in her lonely grandeur, till the deep and long-pro- 
tracted melancholy invaded her constitution, and settled into a 
rapid and fatal decline. 

The chief traits of Isabella's character may be gathered from 
the preceding narrative, to which we subjoin the parallel drawn 
between her and Elizabeth of England, by Mr. Prescott, whose 
" History " so ably and satisfactorily unfolds the events of 
her reign. 

" It is in these more amiable qualities of her sex, that Isa- 



ISABELLA OF SPAIN. 345 

bella's superiority becomes most apparent over her illustrious 
namesake, Elizabeth of England, whose history presents some 
features parallel to her own. Both were disciplined in early 
life by the teachings of that stern nurse of wisdom, adversity. 
Both were made to experience the deepest humiliation at the 
hands of their nearest relative, who should have cherished and 
protected them. Both succeeded in establishing themselves on 
the throne, after the most precarious vicissitudes. Each con- 
ducted her kingdom, through a long and triumphant reign, to a 
height of glory which it never before reached. Both lived to 
see the vanity of all earthly grandeur, and to fall the victims 
of an inconsolable melancholy ; and both left behind an illus- 
trious name, unrivalled in the annals of their country. 

"But with these few circumstances of their history, the re- 
semblance ceases. Their characters afford scarcely a point of 
contact. Elizabeth, inheriting a large share of the bold and 
bluff King Harry's temperament, was haughty, arrogant, 
coarse, and irascible, while with these fiercer qualities she 
mingled deep dissimulation and strange irresolution. Isabella, 
on the other hand, tempered the dignity of royal station with 
the most bland and courteous manners. Once resolved, she 
was constant in her purposes ; and her conduct in public 
and private life was characterized by candor and integrity. 
Both may be said to have shown that magnanimity which is 
implied by the accomplishment of great objects in the face of 
great obstacles. But Elizabeth was desperately selfish; she 
was incapable of forgiving, not merely a real injury, but the 
slightest affront to her vanity ; and she was merciless in exact- 
ing retribution. Isabella, on the other hand, lived only for 
others : was ready at all times to sacrifice self to considerations 
of public duty ; and, far from personal resentment, showed the 
greatest condescension and kindness to those who had most 
sensibly injured her ; while her benevolent heart sought every 
means to mitigate the authorized severities of the law, even 
towards the guilty. 

" Both possessed rare fortitude. Isabella, indeed, was placed 
in situations which demanded more frequent and higher dis- 
plays of it than her rival ; but no one will doubt a full meas- 
ure of this quality in the daughter of Henry VIII. Eliza= 



348 ISABELLA OF SPAIN. 

beth was better educated, and every way more highly accom= 
plished, than Isabella. But the latter knew enough to maintain 
her station with dignity, and she encouraged learning by a 
munificent patronage. The masculine powers and passions of 
Elizabeth seemed to divorce her, in a great measure, from the 
peculiar attributes of her sex ; at least from those which con- 
stitute its peculiar charm ; for she had abundance of foibles ; 
a coquetry and a love of admiration which age could not 
chill ; a levity most careless, if not criminal ; and a fondness 
for dress and tawdry magnificence of ornament which was 
ridiculous or disgusting, according to the different periods of 
life in which it was indulged. Isabella, on the other hand, 
distinguished through life for decorum of manners, and purity 
beyond the breath of calumny, was content with the legitimate 
affection which she could inspire within the range of her do- 
mestic circle. Far from a frivolous affectation of ornament or 
dress, she was most simple in her own attire, and seemed to 
set no value on her jewels, but as they could serve the neces- 
sities of the state ; when they could be no longer useful in this 
way, she gave them away to her friends. 

" Both were uncommonly sagacious in the selection of their 
ministers, though Elizabeth was drawn into some errors, in 
this particular, by her levity, as was Isabella by her religious 
feeling. It was this, combined with her excessive humility, 
which led to the only grave errors in the administration of the 
latter. Her rival fell into no such errors ; and she was a 
stranger to the amiable qualities which led to them. Her 
conduct was certainly not controlled by religious principle ; 
and, though the bulwark of the Protestant faith, it might be 
difficult to say whether she were at heart most a Protestant or 
a Catholic. She viewed religion in its connection with the 
state, — in other words, with herself; and she took measures 
for enforcing conformity to her own views, not a whit less 
despotic, and scarcely less sanguinary, than those counte- 
nanced for conscience' sake by her more bigoted rival. 

" This feature of bigotry, which has thrown a shade over 
Isabella's otherwise beautiful character, might lead to a dis- 
paragement of her intellectual power, compared with that of 
the English queen. To estimate this aright, we must con 



ISABELLA OF SPAIN. 347 

template the results of their respective reigns. Elizabeth 
found all the materials of prosperity at hand, and availed 
herself of them most ably to build up a solid fabric of national 
grandeur. Isabella created these materials. She saw the 
faculties of her people locked up in a death-like lethargy, and 
she breathed into them the breath of life, for those great and 
heroic enterprises which terminated in such glorious conse- 
quences to the monarchy. It is when viewed from the de- 
pressed position of her early days, that the achievements of 
her reign seem scarcely less than miraculous. The masculine 
genius of the English queen stands out relieved beyond its 
natural dimensions by its separation from the softer qualities 
of her sex ; while her rival, like some vast and symmetrical 
edifice, loses, in appearance, somewhat of its actual grandeur, 
from the perfect harmony of its proportions. 

" The circumstances of their deaths, which were somewhat 
similar, displayed the great dissimilarity of their characters. 
Both pined amidst their royal state, a prey to incurable de- 
spondency, rather than any marked bodily distemper. In 
Elizabeth it sprang from wounded vanity j a sullen convic- 
tion that she had outlived the admiration on which she had 
so long fed, and even the solace of friendship, and the 
attachment of her subjects. Nor did she seek consolation 
where alone it was to be found, in that sad hour. Isabella, on 
the other hand, sank under a too acute sensibility to the suf- 
ferings of others. But, amidst the gloom which gathered 
around her, she looked, with the eye of faith, to the brighter 
prospects which unfolded of the future. And, when she 
resigned her last breath, it was with the tears and universal 
lamentations of her people. It is in this undying, unabated 
attachment of the nation, indeed, that we see the most une- 
quivocal testimony to the virtues of Isabella. Her own sub- 
jects extol her as 'the most brilliant exemplar of every virtue,' 
and mourn over the day of her death as * the last of the pros- 
perity and happiness of the country ; ' while those who had 
nearer access to her person are unbounded in their admiration 
of those amiable qualities whose full power is revealed only in 
the unrestrained intimacies of domestic life," 



<^ 




MAID OF ORLEANS. 

FBOM A STATUE BY THE PRINCESS MARIA, OF FRANCE. 



JOAN OF ARC 



This interesting and extraordinary girl, surnamed the 
" Maid of Orleans," from her heroic defence of that city, 
was born about the year 1410, or '11, in the little hamlet of 
Domremy, near the Meuse, and about three leagues south of 
Vaucouleurs, on the borders of Champagne. Her parents were 
humble and honest peasants. The district was remarkable for 
the devout simplicity of its inhabitants, as well as for those 
romantic superstitions, which, in a rude age, are so often allied 
with religion. It appears from the copious depositions of wit- 
nesses from Domremy, examined at Joan's trial, that she waa 
unremitting in her prayers and other religious exercises, and 
was strongly imbued, at a very early age, with the prevailing 
superstitions of her native place. 

During that period of anarchy in France, when the supreme 
power, which had fallen from the hands of a monarch deprived 
of his reason, was contended for by the rival houses of Orleans 
and Burgundy, the conflicting parties carried on war more by 
murder and massacre than by regular battles. When an 
army was wanted, both had recourse to the English ; and 
these conquering strangers made the unfortunate French feel 
still deeper the horrors and ravages of war. At first, the 
popular feeling was undecided ; but when, on the death of 
Charles VI., the crown fell to a young prince, who adopted 
the Armagnac side, whilst the house of Burgundy had sworn 
allegiance to a foreigner, Henry V., as king of France, — then, 
indeed, the wishes and interests of all the French were in 
favor of the Armagnacs, or the truly patriotic party. Remote 
as was the village of Domremy, it was still interested in the 
issue of the struggle. It was decidedly Armagnac, and waa 
vi.— 30 



350 JOAN OF ARC. 

strengthened in this sentiment by the rivalry of a neighboring 
village, which adopted Burgundian colors. 

Political and party interests were thus forced upon the 
enthusiastic mind of Joan, and mingled with the pious legends 
she had caught from the traditions of the virgin. A prophecy 
was current that a virgin should rid France of her enemies, 
and this prophecy seems to have been realized by its effect upon 
the mind of Joan. The girl, by her own account, was about 
thirteen, when- a supernatural vision first appeared to her. 
She describes it as a great light, accompanied by a voice, 
telling her to be devout and good, and promising her the 
protection of Heaven. Joan responded by a vow of eternal 
chastity. From that time, the voice or voices continued to 
haunt Joan, and to echo the enthusiastic and restless wishes 
of her own heart. Her own simple account was^ that " voices " 
were her visitors and advisers, and that they prompted her to 
quit her native place, take up arms, drive the foe before her, 
and procure for the young king his coronation at Rheims. 
These voices, however, had not influence enough to induce 
her to set out upon the hazardous mission, until a band of 
Burgundians, traversing and plundering the country, had 
compelled Joan, together with her parents, to take refuge in a 
neighboring town : when they returned to their village, after 
the departure of the marauders, they found the church of 
Domremy in ashes. 

Such incidents were well calculated to arouse the indigna- 
tion and excite the enthusiasm of Joan. Her " voices " re- 
turned, and incessantly directed her to set out for Orleans, but 
to commence by making application to De Baudricourt, com- 
mander at Vaucouleurs. Her parents, who were acquainted 
with Joan's martial propensities, attempted to force her into a 
marriage ; but she contrived to avoid this by paying a visit to 
an uncle, in whose company she made her appearance before 
the governor of Vaucouleurs, in May, 1428. De Baudricourt 
at first refused to see her, and, upon granting an interview, 
treated her pretensions with contempt. She then returned to 
her uncle's abode, where she continued to announce her 
project, and to insist that the prophecy that " France, lost by a 
voman, — Isabel of Bavaria, — should be saved by a virgin from 



JOAN OF ARC. 351 

the frontiers of Lorraine," alluded to her. She it was, she 
asserted, who could save France, and not " either kings, or 
dukes, nor yet the king of Scotland's daughter " — an expres- 
sion which proves how well-informed she was as to the polit- 
ical events and rumors of the day. 

The fortunes of the dauphin Charles, at this time, had sunk 
to the lowest ebb. Orleans, almost his last bulwark, was 
besieged and closely pressed, and the loss of the battle of 
"Herrings " seemed to take away all hope of saving the city 
from the English. In this crisis, when all human support 
seemed unavailing, Baudricourt no longer despised the super- 
natural aid promised by the damsel of Domremy, and gave 
permission to John of Metz and Bertram of Poulengy, two 
gentlemen who had become converts to the truth of her divine 
mission, to conduct Joan of Arc to the dauphin. They pur- 
chased a horse for her, and, at her own desire, furnished her 
with male habits, and other necessary equipments. Thus pro- 
vided, and accompanied by a respectable escort, Joan set out 
for Vaucouleurs on the 13th February, 1429. Her progress 
through regions attached to the Burgundian interest was 
perilous, but she safely arrived at Fierbois, a place within five 
or six leagues of Chinon, where the dauphin then held his 
court. At Fierbois was a celebrated church dedicated to 
St. Catherine ; and here she spent her time in devotion, whilst 
a messenger was despatched to the dauphin to announce her 
approach. She was commanded to proceed, and reached 
Chinon on the eleventh day after her departure from Vau- 
couleurs. 

Charles, though he desired, still feared, the proffered aid. 
After due consultation, however, it was concluded to grant 
Joan's request, and she received the rank of a military com- 
mander. A suit of armor was made for her, and she sent to 
Fierbois for a sword which, she said, would be found buried 
in a certain spot in the church. It was found there, and con- 
veyed to her. The circumstance became afterwards one of the 
alleged proofs of her sorcery or imposture. Her having passed 
some time at Fierbois among the ecclesiastics of the place, must 
have led, in some way or other, to her knowledge of the deposit. 
Strong in the conviction of her mission, it was Joan's desire to 



352 JOAN OF ARC. 

enter Orleans from the north, and through all the fortific ition* 
of the English. Dunois, however, and the other leaders at 
length overruled her, and induced her to abandon the little 
company of pious companions which she had raised, and to 
enter the beleaguered city by water, as the least perilous path. 
She succeeded in carrying with her a convoy of provisions to 
the besieged. 

The entry of Joan of Arc into Orleans, at the end of April, 
was itself a triumph. The hearts of the besieged were raised 
from despair to a fanatical confidence of success ; and the 
English, who in every encounter had defeated the French, felt 
their courage paralyzed by the coming of this simple girl. We 
cannot give the details of the wonderful events that followed ; 
it must suffice to say, that the French were inspired with the 
utmost courage, and after a series of great achievements, in 
which the wonderful maiden took the lead, the siege was raised. 
Thus, in one week after her arrival, the beleaguered city was re- 
lieved. The most incredible of her promises was now fulfilled, 
and she henceforth received the title of " Maid of Orleans." 

The French now carried all before them, under the guidance 
of this maiden leader ; and, in three months after she came to 
the relief of Charles, he was crowned at Rheims, which had 
surrendered to his arms. After a series of successes, she was 
in one instance defeated, and finally was captured in a sally 
against the enemy, May, 1430. She was now handed over to 
the English partisans in France, brought to trial on the charge 
of sorcery, and condemned to death. A pile of wood was pre- 
pared in the market-place at Rouen, and, encircled by a body 
of judges and ecclesiastics, she was then burned to death, 
and her ashes thrown into the Seine. This took place in May, 
1431. Thus perished one of the most pure, lovely, and exalted 
beings that ever lived. In 1454, a revision of her sentence 
took place, and a monument was erected to her honor, on the 
spot where she had been inhumanly put to death. 




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